"I wish you a happy Christmas," he whispered. "Good-by."
She strove to meet his eyes, strove to speak, lifted her slim hand to stay him. It fell, strength spent, in both of his.
Suddenly Time went all wrong, reeling off centuries in seconds. And through the endless interstellar space that stretched between her world and his she heard his voice bridging it: "I love you—I love you dearly.... Once more I am the beggar—a beggar at Christmastide, asking your mercy—asking more, your love. Dear, is it plain this time? Is all clear, dearest among women?"
She looked up into his eyes; his hands tightened over hers.
"Can you love me?" he said.
"Yes," answered her eyes and the fragrant mouth assented, quivering under his lips.
Then, without will or effort of her own, from very far away, her voice stole back to her faintly.
"Is all this true? I have dreamed so long—so long—of loving you——"
He drew her closer; she laid both hands against his coat and hid her face between them.