“Kiss me, Pelleas,” she said; “in the name of God, kiss me.”
Pelleas gave a great groan.
“Girl, I dare not.”
“You dare.”
“Igraine?”
She bent herself till her lips were over his, and both their heads were clouded in her hair. Her eyes glimmered, her breath beat on his, he saw the whiteness of her teeth between her half-closed lips.
“Igraine,” he said again, half in a groan.
She did not answer him, but simply took his face between her hands and looked into his eyes.
“Coward, Pelleas.”
Power seemed to go from the man in a moment. He put his hands upon her shoulders and looked at her as in a splendid dream. Her face was beautifully peevish, and there lurked an infinite hunger on her lips. Then with a great woe in his heart he drew her face down to his and kissed her. There was such sweet pain in the grand despair of it all that he felt faint for strength of loving. Before he had gathered breath, Igraine had slipped away from him and was in the bower.