'Of course there is a Sinfi Lovell! You begin to make me as dazed as yourself. You have known her well; you and she were seeking me when I was lost.'
'Then you were lost?' I said. 'That, then, is no dream. And yet if you were lost you have been—But you are alive, Winnie. Let me feel the lips on mine again. You are alive! Snowdon told me at last that you were alive, but I dared not believe it, my darling. I dared not believe that my misery would end thus—thus.'
There came upon her face an expression of distressed perplexity which did more than anything else to recall me to my senses.
'Winnie,' I said, 'my brain is whirling. Let us sit down.'
She sat down by my side.
'You thought your Winnie was dead, Henry. Sinfi Lovell has told me all about it.' Then, looking intently at me, she said, 'And how your sorrow has changed you, dear!'
'You mean it has aged me, Winnie. I have observed it myself, and people tell me it has made me look older than I am by many years. These furrows around the eyes—these furrows on my brow—you are kissing them, dear.'
'Oh, I love them; how I love them!' she said. 'I am not kissing them to smooth them away. To me every line tells of your love for Winnie.'
'And the hair, Winnie—look, it is getting quite grizzled.' Then, as the lovely head sank upon my breast. I whispered in her ears, 'Is there at last sorrow enough in the eyes, Winnie? Has the hardening effect of wealth coarsened my expression? Can a rich man for once enter the kingdom of love? Is the betrothal now complete? Are we both betrothed now?'
I stopped, for bliss and love were convulsing her with sobs until you might have supposed her heart was breaking.