Where the valleys widened we came to silent, decorous little towns and villages where yellow-lit windows gleaming through the trees suggested refuge and peace, while we were wanderers in the night. It was Nancy's mood; and now, in the evening's chill, it recurred to me poignantly. In one of these villages we passed a church, its doors flung open; the congregation was singing a familiar hymn. I slowed down the car; I felt her shoulder pressing against my own, and reached out my hand and found hers.
“Are you warm enough?” I asked....
We spoke but little on that drive, we had learned the futility of words to express the greater joys and sorrows, the love that is compounded of these.
It was late when we turned in between the white dates and made our way up the little driveway to the farmhouse. I bade her good night on the steps of the porch.
“You do love me, don't you?” she whispered, clinging to me with a sudden, straining passion. “You will love me, always no matter what happens?”
“Why, of course, Nancy,” I answered.
“I want to hear you say it, 'I love you, I shall love you always.'”
I repeated it fervently....
“No matter what happens?”
“No matter what happens. As if I could help it, Nancy! Why are you so sad to-night?”