oman whom he had seized by force before had shown alike
vitality in her surrender. He only knew that her arms were woven about
his neck, and that the kiss of which he had dreamed was again on his
lips, and that he felt once more her wonderful, supple body pressed
against his, and her heart beating, and her breast heaving. And he knew
that the strength of the love in her which he had gained was beyond
estimation.

Thus for a time they swung together in ethereal space, breathless with
the motion of their flight. The duration of such moments is--in
words--limitless. Now he held her against him, and again he held her away
that his eyes might feast upon hers until she dropped her lashes and the
crimson tide flooded into her face and she hid it again in the refuge she
had longed for,--murmuring his name. But at last, startled by some sound
without and so brought back to earth, she led him gently to the window at
the side and looked up at him searchingly. He was tanned no longer.

"I was afraid you had been working too hard," she said.

"So you do love me?" was Bob's answer to this remark.

Cynthia smiled at him with her eyes: gravely, if such a thing may be said
of a smile.

"Bob, how can you ask?"

"Oh, Cynthia," he cried, "if you knew what I have been through, you
wouldn't have held out, I know it. I began to think I should never have
you."

"But you have me now," she said, and was silent.

"Why do you look like that?" he asked.

She smiled up at him again.

"I, too, have suffered, Bob," she said. "And I have thought of you night
and day."

"God bless you, sweetheart," he cried, and kissed her again,--many times.
"It's all right now, isn't it? I knew my father would give his consent
when he found out what you were."

The expression of pain which had troubled him crossed her face again, and
she put her hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, dearest," she said, "I love you. I am doing this for you. You
must understand that."

"Why, yes, Cynthia, I understand it--of course I do," he answered,
perplexed. "I understand it, but I don't deserve it."

"I want you to know," she continued in a low voice, "that I should have
married you anyway. I--I could not have helped it."

"Cynthia!"

"If you were to go back to the locomotive works' tomorrow, I would marry
you."

"On ninety dollars a month?" exclaimed Bob.

"If you wanted me," she said.

"Wanted you! I could live in a log cabin with you the rest of my life."