This is our marriage."
She drew back. "What do you mean?"
"Haven't you a feeling for such images? We'll go before a
parson--don't be afraid. Would I frighten you, Sylvie? I love you
too much for that. Why, Sylvie, what's wrong?"
When his lips, clinging and compelling, had left hers, she bent her
face to his arm and began to cry.
"Oh, I don't know. I don't know. . . . But please don't kiss me like
that, not like that!"
He released her and half turned, but her hands instantly hunted for
him, found him and clung.
"Hugh, don't be angry. Be patient with me. Try to understand. Perhaps
it's because I am in the dark. I do love you. I do. But you must wait.
Soon it will be spring for me, too. You don't understand? You're
angry? But I can't explain it any better."
"You can lay your hand on me," he said hoarsely. "God knows I'm real
enough." And he thought so! "My love for you is here like a granite
block, Sylvie."
"I know. It is the one thing in the darkness that is real. I know
you--your love, splendid and strong and brave. Wait just a little,
Hugh. Try to be patient. Suddenly it will all come right. The fog
will lift. Then we'll really be on top of the mountain.
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