"I know," he whispered, his eyes fixed steadily on the men.
After a silence she said under her breath: "I understand better now why I ought to wait for you—if there is any hope for us,—as long as there is any chance. And after that—if there is no chance for us—then nothing can matter."
"I know."
"To-night, earlier, I did not understand why I should deny myself to myself, to you, to them.... I did not understand that what I wished for so treacherously masked a—a lesser impulse—"
He said, quietly: "Nothing is surer than that you and I, one day, shall face our destiny together. I really care nothing for custom, law, or folk-way, or dogma, excepting only for your sake. Outside of that, man's folk-ways, man's notions of God, mean nothing to me: only my own intelligence and belief appeal to me. I must guide myself."
"Guide me, too," she said. "For I have come into a wisdom which dismays me."
He nodded and looked down, calmly, at the two men who had not stirred from the shadow of the foliage.
She rose to her feet, hesitated, slowly stretched out her hand, then, on impulse, pressed it lightly against his lips.
"That demonstration," she said with a troubled laugh, "is to be our limit. Good night. You will try to sleep, won't you?... And if I am now suddenly learning to be a little shy with you—you will not mistake me; will you?... Because it may seem silly at this late date.... But, somehow, everything comes late to me—even love, and its lesser lore and its wisdom and its cunning. So, if I ever seem indifferent—don't doubt me, Clive.... Good night."