Never before in all his life had he asked her that directly. Always she had been able to avoid the direct answer. Now-- She tried to struggle free. "Don't--don't ask me that!" she pleaded. "Before they are through--do you love me?" Piercing the still night air the final notes came to her. There was no escape. Either she must lie or tell the truth and to lie--that meant death. "Quick!" he cried. "I do!" she whispered. "Then--" He tried to draw her to him. "You made me tell you, Monte," she sobbed. "Oh, you made me tell the truth." "The truth," he nodded with a smile; "that was all that was necessary. It's all that is ever necessary." He had released her. She was crowding against the wall. She looked up at him. "Now," he said, "if it's one year or two years or three years--what's the difference?" Her eyes suddenly grew as brilliant as the stars. She straightened herself. "Then," she trembled, "if it's like that--" "It might as well be now," he pleaded. Unsteadily, like one walking in a dream, she tottered toward him. He caught her in his arms and kissed her lips--there in the starlight, there in the olive orchard, there in the Garden of Eden. THE END