She had not
seen so far as I, but, womanlike, had reasoned more quickly.
As for me, it seemed that I saw into her heart. I dropped my hands from
my eyes and looked at her strangely, my own brain in a whirl, my logic
gone. All I knew was that then or elsewhere, whether or not rescue ever
came for us, whether we died now or later, there or anywhere in all the
world, I would, indeed, love her and her only, forsaking all others
until, indeed, we were gone back into the sky and flowers, until we
whispered again in the trees, one unto the other! Marriage or no
marriage, together or apart, in sickness or in health--so there came to
me the stern conviction--love could knock no more at my heart, where
once she had stood in her courage and her cleanness. Reverence, I say,
was now the one thing left in my heart. Still we sat, and watched the
sun shine on the distant white-topped peaks. I turned to her slowly at
length.
"Ellen," I said, "do you indeed love me?"
"How can I help it, John Cowles," she answered bravely. My heart stopped
short, then raced on, bursting all control. It was long before I could
be calm as she.
"You have helped it very long," I said at last, quietly.
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