“Then, Holly,” he said, “I ask you to be my wife, for I love you more than I can ever tell you. Will you, Holly, will you?”
“Yes,” sighed Holly.
Very gently he strove to draw her to him but, with her hands against his breast, she held herself at the length of his arms.
“Wait,” she said. “Don’t kiss me until you are sure that you mean what you’ve said, Robert—quite, quite sure. Because”—her eyes darkened, and her voice held a fierceness that thrilled him—“because, dear, after you have kissed me it will be too late to repent. I’ll never let you go then, never while I live! I’ll fight for you until—until——!”
Her voice broke, and the lashes fell tremblingly over her eyes. Winthrop, awed and stirred, raised the bowed head until her eyes, grown soft and timid, glanced up at him once more.
“Dear,” he said, very low and very humbly, “such as I am I am yours as long as God will let me live for you.”
He bent his head until his lips were on hers.
The next instant she had buried her face against his shoulder, and he felt her body shaking in his arms.
“Holly!” he cried. “Holly! You’re crying! What is it, dear? What have I done, Sweetheart?”