"I must go, Joyce," I whispered. "I can't stay here. I daren't."
She slipped her soft bare arms round my neck, and drew my face down to hers.
"Don't go," she whispered back. "Not if you don't want to. What does it matter? I am all yours, Neil, anyway."
For a moment I felt her warm fragrant breath upon my face, and her heart beating quickly against mine. Then, with an effort—a big effort—I tore myself away.
"Joyce dear," I said, "it would only make things worse. Oh, my dear sweet Joyce, I want you like the night wants the dawn, but we can't cheat life. Suppose we fail—suppose there's only death or prison in front of me. It will be hard enough now, but if—"
I broke off, and with a little sob Joyce sat up and felt for my hand.
"You're right, darling," she said; "but oh, my dear, my dear!" She lifted up my hand and passed it softly backwards and forwards across her eyes. Then, with a little laugh that had tears close behind it, she added: "Do you know, my Neil, I'm conceited enough to think you're rather wonderful."
I bent down and kissed her with infinite tenderness.
"I am, Joyce," I said. "Exactly how wonderful you'll never know."
Then I lifted her up in my arms, and we went out of the cabin into the cool darkness of the night.