tion was firstly to dance a war-dance of
triumph and of joy and then to take that dear, sweet angel of a woman
in one's arms and to kiss her till she was ready to faint.

"When do you think I might speak to you again, Elsa?" he said, with a
certain pathetic hesitancy, "about . . ."

"About what, Andor?" she asked.

"About our getting married--later on."

"Not just yet," she murmured, "but . . ."

"No, no, of course I understand. There are the proprieties and all that
. . . you were tokened to that blackguard and . . . Oh! All right, I am
not going to say anything against him," he added quickly as he saw that
words of protest and reproach were already hovering on her lips. "I
won't say anything about him at all except that he is dead now and
buried, thank the good God! . . . And you . . . you still care for me,
Elsa," he continued, whilst a wave of tenderness seemed to sweep all
other thoughts away. "No, no, don't say anything--not now--it is too
soon, of course--and I've just got to wait till the time comes as best I
can. But you mustn't mind my talking on at random like this . . . for I
tell you I am nearly crazy with joy--and I suppose that you would think
it very wrong to rejoice like this over another man's death."

His talk was a little wild and rambling--it was obvious that he was half
distracted with the prospect of happiness to come. She sat quite still,
listening silently, with eyes fixed to the ground. Only now and then she
would look up--not at Andor, but at the paralytic who was gazing on her
with the sad eyes of uncomprehension. Then she would nod and smile at
him and coo in her own motherly way and he would close his
eyes--satisfied.

And Andor, who had paused for that brief moment in his voluble talk,
went rambling on.

"You know," he said, "that it's perfectly wonderful . . . this room, I
mean . . . when I look round me I can hardly credit my eyes. . . . Just
a week ago . . . you remember? . . . I sat just there . . . at the
opposite corner of the table, and you had your low chair against the
wall just here . . . and . . . and you told me that you were tokened to
Eros Bela and that your wedding would be on the morrow . . . well! That
was little more than a week ago . . . before your farewell feast . . .
and I thought then that never, never could I be happy again because you
told me that never, never could we be anything to each other except a
kind of friendly strangers. . . . I remember then how