"Release you!" he interrupted wildly. "This is my answer. It is for love's sake that I hold you, and will hold." He seized her in his arms, and held her with cruel strength. The night had come in fast. He did not care that the watchman by the tall, straight mast might see them. No one could hear the wind-driven, hurrying words. "This is my answer. I hold thus all you have given,—and more. You are sincere, I believe, but mistaken. A weak yielding on my part would make your parents, and perhaps yourself, despise me. I keep what I have, I say, and I demand still more. You must be true to me, no matter what occurs!"
"Pierre, Pierre, you trample on your own hope, though you will not see it! To release me generously is your own best way!"
"You are the self-deceived," cried Pierre. "Pledge yourself irrevocably. Then only are we strong."
In the western sky an orange strip of day remained. A single bird, black against the glow, flew screaming across it, beating curved wings in the wind. "He will not see at all," whispered Yuki, as if to the bird.
"Oh, dearest, you cannot know in your calm, innocent heart the scourge of a love like mine! I hunger for you, I thirst! Sobbing, I dream of you, and I wake to new tears that you are still so far away. In pity, in mere mercy to human suffering, say that no other man shall marry you. Say this much at least, that if prejudice and war hold us apart awhile, you will be true to me until we can seek some new road to happiness!"
"Do I not know,—do I not know?" she shivered, in answer to the first part of his speech. "Every day my heart is torn to small pieces, all of different size and shape. I do not understand how in sleep they come together once more. You are not lonely in that human suffering."
"Oh, you love me!" cried the man. "And on this voyage you love me as you had not done before! Is it not true?"
"It is true," sobbed Yuki.
"Mine is not love," said Pierre, again holding her fast; "it is hell,—a raging hell of ecstasies! Oh, kiss me, Yuki; give me your lips before I die of joy! Now swear,—swear,—that no word but my own,—no circumstance but death, can loose you from me!"
"You torture like the old monks," she panted. "Oh, do not make me say!"