Her voice trailed off. I was still bending forward, all eager and flushed with the great thoughts that were stirring within me. Her eyes seemed almost to cling to mine. She stirred a little, but did not turn away. Her hands were still in mine.
It seemed to me that I ought to surrender her hands and sit back in my chair.
Her eyes were glistening wet, the outlines of her mouth softened from the sadness that had been there. It almost seemed to me that she was drawing me forward with her hands.
Certainly something—some quality of the spirit, perhaps, was draw ing me nearer and nearer to her. I knew that my head was bending closer. I thought of resisting, but I did not resist.
My lips met hers.
Her hands slipped out of mine, and slowly—oh, so slowly!—slid up on my shoulders.
Then her arms were about me, and my arms were about her; and our hearts were beating together, very fast.
“Listen!” she whispered, all breathless, turning her head.
Some one was knocking at my door.
I stood up, irresolute. I was bewildered. She looked wan and weak, lying back there against the pillows. I was choking back the sobs that nearly came.