"Because it's hard for me to sit here when I'd like to be kneeling by your side, kissing your hand, your forehead, your lips," he answered passionately. She started to her elbow. "I shan't move," he assured her. "But it is n't easy to sit here like a bump on a log with everything you're starving for within arm's reach." "Monte!" she gasped. "Perhaps you'd better not talk." "If it were only as easy to stop thinking!" "Why don't one's thoughts mind?" she cried. "When they are told what's right, why don't they come right?" "God knows," he answered. "I sit here and tell myself that if you don't love me I should let it go at that, and think the way I did before the solemn little pastor in Paris got so serious over what wasn't meant to be serious. I've tried, little woman. I tried hard when I left you with Peter. I could n't do it then, and I can't do it now. I hear over and over again the words the little minister spoke, and they grow more wonderful and fine every day. I think he must have known then that I loved you or he would not have uttered them." The leaves in the olive trees rustled beneath the stars. "Dear wife," he cried, "when are you coming to me?" He did not move. She saw his broad shoulders against the wall. She saw his arms folded over his chest as if to keep them tight. She saw his clenched lips. "God help me to keep silent," she prayed. "When are you coming?" he repeated wearily. "Will it be one year or two years or three years?" She moistened her lips. He seemed to speak as though it were only a matter of time--as though it were he who was being punished and it was only a question of how long. She sank back with her eyes upon the stars darting shafts of white light through the purple. "And what am I going to do while I'm waiting?" he went on, as though to himself. Grimly she forced out the words:-- "You--you must n't wait. There 's nothing to wait for." She saw his arms tighten; saw his lips grow hard. "Nothing?" he exclaimed. "Don't make me believe that, because--then there would n't be anything." She grew suddenly afraid. "There would be everything else in the world for you--everything except me," she trembled. "And I count for so little. That's what I want you to learn. That's what, in a little while, you will learn. That's what you must learn. If you'll only hold on until to-morrow--until the next day and I'm gone--" "Gone?" He sprang to his feet. "Monte!" she warned. In terror she struggled to her own feet. The white light of the stars bathed their faces. In the distance he heard the notes of a trumpet sounding taps. It roused him further. It was as though the night were closing in upon him--as though life were closing in on him. He turned and seized her. "Marjory!" he cried. "Look me in the eyes." She obeyed. "They are sounding taps over there," he panted. "Before they are through--do you love me, Marjory?"