The same thought was in their minds
--and he knew that she was not sorry. Her eyes and the quivering
tremble of a smile on her lips told him that. She had braided her
hair in that interval when she had gone to her room, and the braid
had fallen over her breast and lay there shimmering softly in the
candle-glow. He wanted to take her in his arms again. He wanted to
kiss her on the mouth and eyes. But instead of that he took the
silken braid gently in his two hands and crushed it against his
lips.
"I love you," he cried softly. "I love you."
He stood for a moment or two with his head bowed, the thrill of
her hair against his face. It was as if he was receiving some kind
of a wonderful benediction. And then in a voice that trembled a
little she spoke to him. Before he could see fully what was in her
eyes she turned suddenly to the wall, took down his coat, and hung
it over the window. When he saw her face again it was gloriously
flushed. She pointed to the candles.
"No danger of that," he said, comprehending her.
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