“You love me! I tell you, you love me!” he cried, passionately, and before she was aware of it she was in his arms, his lips were against her lips, were on her shoulders, her neck.

“You love me!” he cried. “You love me! I defy you to say you do not.”

“Oh, make me love you, then,” she answered. “ Make me believe that you do love me.”

“Don’t you know,” he cried, “don’t you know how I have loved you? Oh, from the very first! My love has been my life, has been my death, my one joy, and my one bitterness. It has always been you, dearest, year after year, hour after hour. And now I’ve found you again. And now I shall never, never let you go.”

“No, no! Ah, don’t, don’t!” she begged. “I implore you. I am weak, weak. Just a word, and I would forget everything.”