Elena hid her face. 'You mean to force me to say that I love you,'
she whispered. 'There, I have said it.'

'Elena!' cried Insarov.

She took his hands, looked at him, and fell on his breast.

He held her close to him, and said nothing. There was no need for him
to tell her he loved her. From that cry alone, from the instant
transformation of the whole man, from the heaving of the breast to
which she clung so confidingly, from the touch of his finger tips in
her hair, Elena could feel that she was loved. He did not speak, and
she needed no words. 'He is here, he loves me . . . what need of more?'
The peace of perfect bliss, the peace of the harbour reached after
storm, of the end attained, that heavenly peace which gives
significance and beauty even to death, filled her with its divine
flood. She desired nothing, for she had gained all. 'O my brother,
my friend, my dear one!' her lips were whispering, while she did not
know whose was this heart, his or her own, which beat so blissfully,
and melted against her bosom.

He stood motionless, folding in his strong embrace the young life
surrendered to him; he felt against his heart this new, infinitely
precious burden; a passion of tenderness, of gratitude unutterable,
was crumbling his hard will to dust, and tears unknown till now stood
in his eyes.

She did not weep; she could only repeat, 'O my friend, my brother!'

'So you will follow me everywhere?' he said to her, a quarter of an