“Neale, you talk like a boy. Something, indeed, has gone to your head.”
“Yes, indeed, it has. It’s your face—In the moonlight.”
She hid her blushes for a moment on his breast.
“I—I want to be serious,” she whispered. “I want to thank God for my good fortune. To think of you and your work!... The future! And you—you only want kisses.”
“Well, since your future must be largely made up of kisses, suppose you begin your work—right now.”
“Oh, you’re teasing! Yet when you ask of me—whatever you ask—I have no mind—no will. Something drags at me... I feel it now—as I used to—when you made me wade the brook.”
“Oh! That’s my sweetest memory of you. How it haunted me!”
They stood silent for a while. Out in the moon—blanched space the sentries trod monotonously. A coyote yelped, sharp and wild. The wind moaned low. Suddenly Neale shook himself, as if awakening.
“Allie, it grows late. We must say good night... Today has been blessed. I am grateful to the depths of my heart... But I won’t let you go—until my reward—”
She raised her face, white and noble in the moonlight.