not know? It is so long ago, and—and I have prayed your prayer, the prayer you asked for me, since then—that God would guard and keep you, and—and I prayed that He would bring you back, but not like this—in peril for—for me."
"Janet!"—all of life and death seemed in the word; rapt wonder, a wild questioning that would not let him yet believe, was in his eyes, his face.
Slowly, hesitatingly, he put out his hands and touched her—her arms, her shoulders—and gently lifted her face and looked into the swimming eyes that for a breathless moment were raised to his—and then he swept her to him, kissing the blue-veined eyelids, the trembling lips, the golden head of hair, the pure white brow.
"I love you, I love you—Janet—Janet"—the words came over and over again from his lips—words he had never thought to say—came voicing a song of wondrous melody in his soul—all else was blotted from him—and only that glad pæon of supernal joy rang out entrancing him.
"Varge—dear Varge," she answered him tremulously—and like a tired child lay passively in his arms.
He held her close to him in a silence that had no need of words, her head upon his breast, his face buried in the golden hair again—and then her hand stole into his, and she led him toward the willow.
"I do not think we could be seen from the road," she said, a little laughter, a little sob mingling their notes in her voice, "but it will be safer here."
Beneath the limbs of the great tree it was shadow and the light was gone—and to Varge, suddenly, it seemed
