For an hour he watched her, feeling the arm on which she lay growing numb. He reviewed the day and the crowded night. He _could_ do something after all. Among other things, now, he would drop a little note to Higbee and add the news of his marriage as a postscript. She was actually his wife. How quickly it had come. His heart was full of a great love for her, but he could not quite repress the pride in his achievement--and Shepler had not been sure until he was poor! He lost consciousness himself for a little while. When he awoke the cold light of the morning was stealing in. He was painfully cramped, and chilled from the open window. From outside came the loud chattering of sparrows, and far away he could hear wagons as they rattled across a street of Belgian blocks from asphalt to asphalt. The light had been late in coming, and he could see a sullen grey sky, full of darker clouds. Above the chiffonier he could see the ancient sampler. _"La Nuit Porte Conseil."_ It was true. In the cold, pitiless light of the morning a sudden sickness of doubting seized him. She would awake and reproach him bitterly for coercing her. She had been right, the night before,--it was madness. They had talked afterward so feverishly, as if to forget their situation. Now she would face it coldly after the sleep. _"La Nuit Porte Conseil."_ Had he not been a fool? And he loved her so. He would have her anyway--no matter what she said, now. She stirred, and her wide-open eyes were staring up at him--staring with hurt, troubled wonder. The amazement in them grew--she could not understand. He stopped breathing. His embrace of her relaxed. And then he saw remembrance--recognition--welcome--and there blazed into her eyes such a look of whole love as makes men thrill to all good; such a look as makes them know they are men, and dare all great deeds to show it. Like a sunrise, it flooded her face with dear, wondrous beauties,--and still she looked, silent, motionless,--in an ecstasy of pure realisation. Then her arms closed about his neck with a swift little rushing, and he--still half-doubting, still curious--felt himself strained to her. Still more closely she clung, putting out with her intensity all his misgiving. She sought his lips with her own--eager, pressing. "Kiss me--kiss me--kiss me! Oh, it's all true--all true! My best-loved dream has come all true! I have rested so in your arms. I never knew rest before. I can't remember when I haven't awakened to doubt, and worry, and heart-sickness. And now it's peace--dear, dear, dearest dear, for ever and ever and ever." They sat up. "Now we shall go--get me away quickly." It was nearly seven. Outside the sky was still all gloom. In the rush of her reassurance he had forgotten his arm. It hung limp from his shoulder. "It was cramped." "And you didn't move it?"