Yermah had been watching her through a tapestry of vines, leaves and blossoms. In the interim his hopes ran as high as her spirits had been somber and low. He shook the branches of the hedge and stamped with his foot; but she was too much absorbed to hear him. At last he contrived to make her know that he was near. He had left home with the mere desire of seeing her, and with no intention of speaking. But when he saw her kiss his name, it was the eager impulse and bound of impassioned love which brought him to her side. His hungry eyes drove him there for sight of her. Now his hungrier heart demanded more. The same impulse impelling him forward controlled his further action. Kerœcia made no resistance when he caught her in his arms, nor did she deny him when his lips sought hers, insistent and clinging. Each soul claimed its own. Each organism responded to its counter exhilaration.... Love beggared language.... It was well. Neither had voice nor speech, as by common impulse they drew apart and hurried away in opposite directions. Yermah dared not trust himself to look back, while Kerœcia groped her way into the house and hid in her own room, safe from human eye. “Men kiss like women,” she murmured naïvely, and in a surprised tone. “Their lips are the same, but—” Then she buried her face in her hands while a hot blush burned its way to the roots of her hair. Her cheeks still tingled with the light sweep of mustache and beard, and she fell to wondering if she could see the kiss as plainly as she still felt it. Those dear arms! How strong and masterful their protecting enfoldment!... The perfume of the crushed and broken rose brought her back to reality. She unfastened it, and buried her mouth in its petals, so close that a drop of blood spread itself over her white teeth. Presently she wiped her lips with a dainty bit of linen. “Sealed in blood!” she exclaimed, as she examined it. “And nothing but heart’s blood can ever sever the bond. Oh, Yermah, my hero, my king! I love thee!” The Dorado hurried through the streets with his senses in a whirl, and then entered Iaqua by a private gate. He did not pause until he threw himself on his knees before the statue of Orion. The soft light of incense-tapers and jeweled lamps revealed the pallor of his countenance. Too agitated to attempt prayer, he nervously held his hands to his head, and tried to collect his thoughts—to control his emotions. “Oh, truant and coward that I am!” he exclaimed. “Why could I not speak the words my heart is bursting to tell? Will she know how sincerely, how devotedly I love her?” He threw off his cloak, pushed his helmet on the floor, and wiped the perspiration from his brow. “What a lovely creature a woman is! I can feel her soft, yielding body yet—her warm breath and sweet lips. No wonder I could not speak! Will her thought accuse me? And her dear, little hands!—I could crush them easily.”