For I knew well that it would come to that, and that so soon as the affair went past mere empty words those two who had stood at my shoulder would fall behind or be content to bide snugly at home. “_Not alone!_” said the young lass, quickly, and moved a step towards me with her hand held out. Then, with a deep and burning blush, her maiden modesty checked her, and she stood red like a July rose in the clear morning. She swayed as if she would have fallen, and, leaping up quickly, I caught her in my arms ere she had time to fall. Her eyes were closed. The blood had ebbed from her face and left her pale to the very lips. I stood with her light weight in my arms, thrilling strangely, for, God be my judge, never woman had lain there before. Presently she gave a long snatching breath and opened her eyes. I saw the tears gather in them as her head lay still and lax in the hollow of my arm. The drops did not fall, but rather gathered slowly like wells that are fed from beneath. “You will not go away?” she said, and at last lifted her lashes, with a little pearl shining wet on each, like a swallow that has dipped her wings in a pool. Then, because I could not help it, I did that which I had never done to any woman born of woman: I stooped and kissed the wet sweet eyes. And then, ere I knew it, with a little cry of frightened joy, the girl’s arms were about me. She lifted up her face, and kissed me again and again and yet again. * * * * * When I came to myself I was conscious of another presence in the kitchen. I looked up quickly, and there before me, standing with an ash switch swaying in her hand, was Alexander-Jonita. I had not supposed that she could have looked so stern. “Well?” she said, as if waiting for my explanation. “I love your sister,” I replied; for indeed, though I had not thought thus of the matter before, there seemed nothing else to be said. But the face of Alexander-Jonita did not relax. She stood gazing at her sister, whose head rested quiet and content on my shoulder. “Jean,” she said at last, “knowing that which you know, why have you done this?” The girl lifted her head, and looked at Jonita with a kind of glad defiance. “Sister,” she said, “you do not understand love. How should you know what one would do for love?” “You love my sister Jean?” Jonita began again, turning to me with a sharpness in her words like the pricking of a needle’s point. “Yes!” I answered, but perhaps a little uncertainly. “Did you know as much when you came into the kitchen?” “No,” said I. For indeed I knew not what to answer, never having been thus tangled up with women’s affairs in my life before. “I thought not,” said Jonita, curtly. Then to Jean, “How did this come about?” she said. Jean lifted her head, her face being lily-pale and her body swaying a little to me.