'Papa made me burn all the rest,' said Esther, with her own cheeks now burning. And she would have turned away, leaving the book in his hands, with an action of as shy grace as ever Milton gave to his Eve; but Pitt got rid of the book and took herself in his arms instead.
And then for a few minutes there was no more conversation. They had reached a point of mutual understanding where words would have been superfluous.
But words came into their right again.
'Esther, do you remember my kissing you when I went away, six or seven years ago?'
'Certainly!'
'I think that kiss was in some sort a revelation to me. I did not fully recognise it then, what the revelation was; but I think, ever since I have been conscious, vaguely, that there was an invisible silken thread of some sort binding me to you; and that I should never be quite right till I followed the clue and found you again. The vagueness is gone, and has given place to the most daylight certainty.'
'I am glad of that,' said Esther demurely, though speaking with a little effort. 'You always liked certainties.'
'Did you miss me?'
'Pitt, more than I can possibly tell you! Not then only, but all the time since. Only one thing has kept me from being very downhearted sometimes, when time passed, and we heard nothing of you, and I was obliged to give you up.'
'You should not have given me up.'