The girl stood a moment, with her tightly clasped hands, and her hesitation seemed like a year of suspense to the heart watching her from the other room, and then, with a little, half-troubled smile upon her lips at Aunt Clara, the girl glided into the other room, and, sheltered as well as blinded by its partial shadows, she closed the door behind her. She was so near the man that her muslin sleeve rested upon his arm. He felt suffocated with that blissful touch, and he stood, silent, wordless, as if deprived of the powers of speech. She, too, felt his nearness, although she could see nothing, and she stood uncertain which way to go. Then she threw up her hand as if to shield herself, and she touched his cold cheek, and felt the silken mustache beneath her fingers. He snatched her hand and held it to his lips, its warmth and purity stilling, for a moment, the trembling of his soul. At last he took it away, and putting it upon his face, rested his cheek within its sweet cup, as if thus all sorrow were done forever. She stood silent, waiting, and as voiceless as himself. This unbroken, sweet encouragement was almost more than he could bear; he was so unprepared for it, and it had all come so suddenly. After a moment, he reached out, and finding her so near, he laid his arm about her waist, and as she said nothing, he drew her to him with a close, tender embrace, and laying his own face down upon the soft hair, he held her to his throbbing heart in speechless bliss. Neither knew how long they stood thus, so perfect was their peace. At last, he drew her face up to him, and whispered in her ear so close that his breath stirred all the tiny curls around her neck: "Is it love, dear, or sympathy?" For answer, she laughed softly, and putting her arms around his neck of her own accord, she murmured: "It is my love, my life, John." Words were too weak; he drew her face upon his shoulder, and in the shadowy silence, he put his big, rough hand under her rounded chin, and thus drawing up her mouth to his own bent lips, he told her with that long, wordless caress all the pent-up story of his life and its passion. He drew her to the casement, and in the flood of moonlight pouring in, he stood away for a moment and looked at her with his hungry eyes, as if he must make sure if she were real. He gloried in her beauty, for he loved all things beautiful and perfect of their kind; and he noted each gracious charm of face and form as he pinioned her arms down that he might hold her from fleeing away from his loving possession. "So strong, so sweet, so pure," he murmured under his breath; "and all mine, mine for time and the long eternity!" She laughed again, a little, happy, yet modest laugh, as she saw the gleam of adoration which lit her lover's eyes as he gazed down upon her in the moonlight, and then she struggled to free herself, as she remonstrated softly: "You are not to hold me at arm's length, sir."