There was a warm, wet cheek pressed close to his, bright chestnut strands of hair over his face, tight little hands clutching his breast. He scarcely breathed while he realized that Allie Lee lived. Then he felt so weak that he could hardly move.
“Allie—you’re not dead?” he whispered.
With a start she raised her head. It was absolutely the face of Allie Lee.
“I’m the livest girl you ever saw,” she replied, with a little low laugh of joy.
“Allie—then you’re actually alive—safe—here!” he exclaimed, in wild assurance.
“Yes—yes.... With you again! Isn’t it glorious? But, oh! I gave you a shock. You frightened me so. Neale, are you well?”
“I wasn’t—but I am now.”
He trembled as he gazed at her. Yes, it was Allie’s face—incomparable, unforgettable. She might have been a little thin and strained. But time and whatever she had endured had only enhanced her loveliness. No harm had befallen her—that was written in the white glow of her face, in the violet eyes, dark and beautiful, with the brave soul shining through their haunting shadows, in the perfect lips, tremulous and tender with love.
“Neale, they told me you gave up your work—were going to the bad,” she said, with an eloquence of distress changing her voice and expression.
“Yes. Allie Lee, I loved you so well—that after I lost you—I cared for nothing.”