"Forgive me, Frank, forgive me?" she whispered, weeping, resisting his endeavors to raise her.
"No, Frank, no, let me stay here, it should be so--"
"Forgive you? There is no question of that. Thank God you are here again!"
But before she got up she tore a bit of paper into shreds, then she ran to the window and opened her hand and they danced away in the air like snowflakes. And when she turned back again she looked into his grave eyes.
"What was that?" he asked, drawing her towards him.
She threw her arms round his neck and hid her streaming eyes on his breast. They stood thus together at the open window, in the clear rays of the morning sun. The twittering swallows flew past them over the tops of the trees up into the blue sky.
"Back again! Back again!" was the burden of their song.
Gradually the house woke up. The little brunette laid the table in the garden-hall.
"Two cups, two plates, and a bunch of roses in the middle--for the last time," said she, "then she can do it for herself again."
Then she stood thinking for a moment.