But the stifling air of the streets soon scorched up the moisture, and Marmaduke protested against anything but a cup of hot coffee--which fat "Heart's Delight" bustled away to prepare--while those two stood and talked on the verandah. Below them lay the town, still smoking; still--as a puff of dawn wind blew the embers to redness--sending out a shower of sparks, or even a forked tongue of flame. The smell of burning filled their nostrils, the memory of a great escape filled their minds. And beyond that, under and deeper than that, stretched the atmosphere of death and disease, of constant danger, in which they had both been living for so long. It is an atmosphere which invariably brings with it, to the wholesome mind and body, a feeling of revolt against such limitations, a distaste of all things that pertain to decay: a keen appetite for those that belong to life. And the dawn-light grew as they stood talking. She had bidden him begone, had urged as a reason that he must remember his health. Cholera might be bad on the hills, but it was deadly in the city. And he had laughed back that caution was a bit late to a man who had seen six strong men die that very morning. The poor devils seemed to like his being there. Now he---- "I should only want _you_, Marmie," he said. And she had looked at him in sudden wonder. "I must go now if I'm to be in time for parade," he admitted at last. "Good-night--no, good-morrow, my heart's delight!" For an instant she held he was joking with the fat coffee-bringer's name; then she gave a quick tremulous cry-- "Duke! what--what do you mean?" He laughed a little low, happy laugh, sank on his knees beside her, and clasped her tight in his arms. "Only that I love you--only that I've found you--no, I've found myself for ever and ever and ever!" He buried his face in the loose folds of her dress and so they remained for a second. Then she slipped through his hold to her knees also, and they knelt looking into each other's eyes. The sun rising slowly, majestically, out of the sea shone upon their shining faces. Vaguely, as in a glass, darkly the twain had passed to one; they were nearer the Great Unity. "Duke," whispered Marmie, with a faint shiver, "I think I'm afraid!" "And I," he said joyously, finding her lips, "feel as if I never could be afraid again--never--never--never!" CHAPTER VII "Duke," she said, for at least the twentieth time, "I keep wondering how it came about." He spent all his spare time now--it was not much--in the vine pergola, and he was picking out the ripe grapes from a bunch as he answered her. "I don't. I had been thinking about you a lot; and then I was tired--really done!" "What an excuse for falling in love," she protested half-vexedly; "but I should like to know." He came over to her and put his arm round her waist.