"We will arise early. We are helpless in the dark to-night. We can't think. We are like two desolate beings, lost to each other.... I will call you early—"
"My God, don't go so soon!"
Romney didn't know his own voice, didn't know the weakness that had come to him. Her face seemed to be receding in the lamp-light.
"We are not sane!" she whispered. "Have you thought—that it is going to be too much for us? You must go.... Oh, what shall we do?"
"Let us sit in silence together," he asked her.... "The last night—to go apart so soon—"
"Do you not see that we must sleep to be sane? You must feel as I do. We are wearing—wearing. The day has been terrible. This morning, as you told me of that woman, I thought I should die. Even my Holy Man only healed me for a little while. I think it is a madness—a man and woman yearning like this. Words don't help. I look at you—and feel far off. Your hand that I reach for only tells me that to-morrow you must go. It seems nothing will do but—oh, I don't understand—I want to lose myself in your arms. It seems as if all nature were driving me to you—and that you were going away—"
He held her fast and understood it all as only a lover could, for she seemed to be speaking from his own heart. Any separation between them was poignant agony. He wanted to become identified with her—to lose himself, as she expressed it—yet the horror of the coming day prevailed upon his mind, making thoughts and words and even the movement of his hands an indescribable heaviness.
"It seems there should be but two in a world at a time like this. Our walk in the desert must have maddened me. I want some hill-country for our Meeting. I want the desert ... I must go. If I do not sleep, I shall not be strong."
"Do you think you can sleep?"
"I shall try. Perhaps—we are so exhausted."