“Yes.” The reply was low, scarce a whisper, but he heard it. A great wondering delight swayed him. He moved impulsively toward her, but stopped doubtfully.
Through the open windows, into the dim, silent room, floated the melody of spring and of love; the exquisite outpourings of a hundred gladsome birds, the humming of a myriad insects, the gentle lisping of the soft wind amidst the branches. And with it came the heart-stirring fragrance of opening buds and swaying blossoms, the wonderful incense of spring which is also the incense of love.
Margaret raised her head slowly until her eyes, deep and glowing, met John’s. They were no longer fearful; they were glorious.
“Ah, can’t you see?” she whispered pleadingly.
A flame of colour swept into her face and she laughed softly—a laugh that thrilled him through and through. The interlaced fingers parted and she threw her arms wide open in a sudden gesture of utter surrender.
“Can’t you—won’t you understand that I’m—I’m trying to tell you—now?”
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.