He held her fast and understood it all as only a lover could, for she seemed to be speaking from his own heart. Any separation between them was poignant agony. He wanted to become identified with her—to lose himself, as she expressed it—yet the horror of the coming day prevailed upon his mind, making thoughts and words and even the movement of his hands an indescribable heaviness. "It seems there should be but two in a world at a time like this. Our walk in the desert must have maddened me. I want some hill-country for our Meeting. I want the desert ... I must go. If I do not sleep, I shall not be strong." "Do you think you can sleep?" "I shall try. Perhaps—we are so exhausted." They stood apart as if by common impulse, searching each other’s eyes. It was the deep look that passes but once between a man and a woman. She drew back a little, saying quietly: "It is not our hour." And then a sudden pity seemed to come to her, akin to that which he had met the night before—something from his face. She came to him. "Oh, don’t think it has anything to do with the world. I would have no mere man tell us when we are one. It is nothing like that. Our marriage must be made in a better place than earth—or else we are very far apart and mad indeed. No man—none less than a saint, a master—could tell me when I am your wife—oh, yes, our Holy Man—but I would not wait for him. But don’t you see—this is not the hour? Our hearts are broken. I feel Nadiram heavy upon me like a low and appraising eye. This place is full of the _old_. It belongs to the cries in the night—it belongs to him of the Forward Room.... Listen, to-night we must rest, or we will break to-morrow. I feel as if nothing mattered but strength for to-morrow. Go to your room—yes, go to your room and bring your cot here—" "Anna—Anna!" "Yes, and I will bring mine beside it—here beside it.... Yes, and we shall lie down, hand in hand, and call upon our strength—and rest—don’t you remember?—like little children—" It was in a kind of ecstasy that he moved about his room, making ready—the sweetness of the woman overcoming every other thought. He was hastening, yet he knew she would be longer in coming to the living room. His love went forth to her, often his hand and his step stilled to listen for her movement in the house. With a queer laugh, he realised that she was calling forth from his heart a force that could never come back to him—that she was necessary for life, that his days would be very few if she were taken. He was forced into the lover’s establishment of every thought on an immortal basis. "Give all to love"—he had not known what that meant, even last night.