Their hands found each other and they walked along almost in silence, afraid to break the spell of their dream lest they should awake and find it gone. It seemed wonderful to him that they were together, and he could hardly believe it was reality, though the touch of her hand filled him with a strange physical exultation which he had never felt before. He seemed to be walking on the clouds, and she too was swaying by his side as if her blood was dancing. Sometimes she dried her glistening eyes, and once she stopped and swung in front of him and looked long at him and then raised her face to his and kissed him.
“Whether you like it or not your life is bound up with mine for ever and ever!” she whispered.
“It had to be,” he answered. “I know it now. I can no longer deceive myself.”
“And we shall be happy? In spite of all you said we shall be very happy, eh?”
“Yes, that will be quite forgotten, Glory.”
“And forgiven,” she said, and then between a sigh and a blush she asked him to kiss her again.
“My love!”
“My soul!”
The wind swept the hood of her cape about her head and he could smell the fragrance of her hair.
He tried to think what he had done to deserve such happiness, but all the suffering he had gone through seemed as nothing compared to a joy like this. The great clock of Westminster swung its hollow sounds into the air, which went riding by on the wind like the notes of an organ, now full and now as soft as a baby's whisper. They could hear the far-off rumble of the vast city which fringed their blessed island like a mighty sea, and through the pulse of their clasped hands it seemed as if they felt the pulse of the world. An angel had come down and breathed on the face of the waters, and it was God's world, after all.