Except for
the three motionless bodies, they were alone. The lamp on the high
shelf flared fitfully in the wind, and the charred embers on the floor
exhibited a glowing spark of colour. From a distance Brennan's voice
growled out a gruff order to his line of prisoners. Then all was
still. The eyes of the girl opened slowly, her lids trembling, but as
they rested on Westcott's face, she smiled.
"You are glad I came?"
"Glad! Why I never really knew what gladness meant before."
He bent lower, his heart pounding fiercely, strange words struggling
for utterance.
"You love me?"
She looked at him, all the fervent Irish soul of her in her eyes. Then
one arm stole upward to his shoulder.
"As you love me," she whispered softly, "as you love me!"
"I can ask no more, sweetheart," he breathed soberly, and kissed her.
At last she drew back, still restrained by his arms, but with her eyes
suddenly grave and thoughtful.
"We forget," she chided, "where we are. You must let me go now, and
see if he is alive. I will wait on the bench, here.
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