“Jim,” she replied, just as low and gladly.
He moved closer, so that the hand she had gropingly put out touched him, then seemed naturally to slip along his shoulder, round his neck. And his face grew clearer in the shadow. His lips met hers, and Joan closed her eyes to that kiss. What hope, what strength for him and for her now in that meeting of lips!
“Oh, Jim! I'm so glad—to have you near—to touch you,” she whispered.
“Do you love me still?” he whispered back, tensely.
“Still? More—more!”
“Say it, then.”
“Jim, I love you!”
And their lips met again and clung, and it was he who drew back first.
“Dearest, why didn't you let me make a break to get away with you—before we came to this camp?”
“Oh, Jim, I told you. I was afraid. We'd have been caught. And Gulden—”