"My dear, my dear, surely you must know. Is there need for any words between us? I've known so long all you must mean to me. Listen, Patricia, you will have to forgive me a great thing. I've let outside considerations, absurd ambitions, and the shadow of a lie, stand between us. I've waited when I should have spoken. You _will_ forgive me that, my dear one, will you not? I'm not humble a bit in asking. I am so proud of the one great thing, that _I_ can give you, Love,--can hold you and wrap you in it, so that nothing can hurt you any more. You understand, you recognise my right, Patricia?" She could say nothing, understand nothing, but the great peace of perfect security. She let him hold her still, with her head against his shoulder and his dear face near, so near she seemed to lose sense of her own identity. All the answer to her life's riddle lay there, behind the love that emptied her soul of need. Out of the blissful unspeakable light some words vibrated into new meaning. "There shall be no more sea." It meant this then, this experience that was theirs. For him and her there was no more tempest, no more restless craving or peril, all had passed with the old incompleteness. Still, she had not spoken audibly to him nor had he pressed her to do so. Words were too imperfect a medium. But presently, when all had been said in the silence that could be said, he touched her hair with caressing hand and reminded her: "You have never answered me, sweet." She put her hand on his as it held her and whispered, "Have I not, Christopher?" And then he kissed her. Afterwards as they sat watching the red fire, it seemed to her there was no problem in all the world he could not solve, no struggle in which he would not prove victor, nor any knowledge too deep to reach. In the illumination of their great love the gates of life became visible and open, never to be quite closed again. She spoke at last slowly and quietly. "Christopher, I am not going to ask you if you are afraid or have counted the risk you run, I being what I am. I know what you would say and I love you so well that now at this moment I have no fear either. But it will come nevertheless. Others will point out to you that it is a mad thing to do, and I shall say it too. It is then you must hold me, Christopher, against my will and against myself. For this is my clear sane hour, when I really know, and I know it means my salvation. Only when that certainty slips from me you must keep and save me yourself, dearest." He held her hands against him and looked down into her eyes. "As I would keep and save myself, beloved." She smiled a little, understanding to the finest shade his meaning, and then a quiver of weakness touched her. "I should die if you let me slip, Christopher." "You are going to live," he said firmly, and kissed her again. CHAPTER XXXI