"I won't let them harm you!" he said tensely. "I'll stand by you. I don't know much—yet; I'm young, but I'm strong and with you to fight for—I can do anything!"
He trembled. She was there in his arms, submissive, her hands were against his body in a strange caress and he felt her limbs touching his, warm and firm. He closed his eyes and shook his head as though fearful that this would not endure a moment of sightlessness; but she was there when he opened them. This was real; this was no vagary of his distressed mind—and he laughed.
That laugh roused Helen and she drew back, breaking his embrace slowly, staring at him as though this that he had done frightened her.
"John!" she said under her breath. "John? What is—this?"
She backed away.
"Don't you know?" he muttered. She did not speak, and he advanced slowly until he was looking down into her uplifted face. "Don't you know?" She did not answer and he took one of her wrists in his hand savagely. "Helen! Don't you know—now!"
Her breath was driven from her lungs as he wrapped his arms about her fiercely, and that breath, escaping through lips and nostrils, was hot on his cheek as it lowered to hers—as hot as his lips on her mouth.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
"Yes—I know—now," she whispered.
Her eyes opened and looked into his; for a long moment their gazes clung, and in that look was an understanding which made words both inadequate and unnecessary. But words followed. In low voices, in broken sentences, rising in tone and with fewer pauses.
