"Neil, let me go. I can't breathe."

"I love you."

"Let me go."

The shadow figures swayed and then were still. The girl's arms dropped.
The little, one-sided struggle was over. There was a long, tired sigh,
and then silence; silence, and one shadow face bending hungrily over the
other shadow face. "Judith," the boy whispered breathlessly, "do you
hate me now?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to let you go? Do you want me to take you home?"

"Yes," came the same answering whisper, the faintest and most uncertain
of whispers, but two arms, gently freeing themselves, found their way to
his shoulders, two hands locked behind his head and drew it gently down,
until the two shadow faces were close once more, and lips that were not
shadow lips met and clung together; not shadow lips, but hungry and warm
and alive--untaught but unafraid young lips, ready for kisses that are
no two alike and can never come again--wonderful kisses that blot
everything out of the changing world but themselves.

"Judith"--the boy lifted his head at last, and looked down at the face
against his shoulder, pale and small, but with all the colour and light
and life that night had taken from the world and hidden, burning
undimmed in the awakening eyes--"you don't want me to take you home? You
don't--care what happens?"

"No."

He could hardly hear her low whisper, but her face was answer enough,
even for a boy who could not know what had touched it with new beauty,
but had to guess, as his own heart and the night might teach him.

"No, I don't care. I don't care."

"Judith, you do love me?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"You're so sweet," he whispered, "I feel as if I'd never kissed you
before--or seen you before. I love you, Judith."

"Yes."

"I love you and I don't want to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"But nothing's going to take you away from me now."

"Nothing."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I tell you, I don't care what happens. I--don't--care."

"Judith!"

Once more her hands drew him close; shy hands, groping uncertainly in
the dark, and shy lips kissed him. It was the coolest and lightest of
kisses, but it was worth all the others, if the boy knew how much it
promised--more than all her broken speech had promised, more than any
spoken words.

Judith herself did not know, but some instinct older than she was made
her whisper: "Be good to me. Will you be good to me?"

"Yes, Judith."

The boy answered her sm