"When I saw him," said Stephen, reverently, "I knew how little and narrow
I was."
Then, overcome by the incense of her presence, he drew her to him until her heart beat against his own. She did not resist, but lifted her face to him, and he kissed her.
"You love me, Virginia!" he cried.
"Yes, Stephen," she answered, low, more wonderful in her surrender than ever before. "Yes—dear." Then she hid her face against his blue coat. "I—I cannot help it. Oh, Stephen, how I have struggled against it! How I have tried to hate you, and couldn't. No, I couldn't. I tried to insult you, I did insult you. And when I saw how splendidly you bore it, I used to cry." He kissed her brown hair.
"I loved you through it all," he said.
"Virginia!"
"Yes, dearest."
"Virginia, did you dream of me?"
She raised her head quickly, and awe was in her eyes. "How did you know?"
"Because I dreamed of you," he answered. And those dreams used to linger with me half the day as I went about my work. I used to think of them as I sat in the saddle on the march."