understanding, and devotion. All beautiful things in their way, and
possible to be enjoyed at a distance from one another. All the things
which make passion noble--but without love--which _is_ passion--
these things dwindle and become duties presently, when the hysterical
exaltation cools. Love is _tangible_--it means to be close--close--
to be clasped--to be touching--to be One!"

Her voice was low--so concentrated as to be startling in contrast to
the drip of the rain outside, and her eyes--half closed and
gleaming--burnt into his brain. It seemed as if strange flames of
green darted from their pupils.

"But that is what I want!" Paul said, unsteadily.

"Without counting the cost? Tears and--cold steel--and blood!" she
whispered. "Wait a while, beautiful Paul!"

He started back chilled for a second, and in that second she changed
her position, pulling the cushions around her, nestling into them and
drawing herself cosily up like a child playing on a mat in front of
the fire, while with a face of perfect innocence she looked up as she
drew one of her great books nearer, and said in a dreamy voice:

"Now we will read fairy-tales, Paul."

But Paul was too moved to speak. These rapid changes were too much for
him, greatly advanced though he had become in these short days since
he had known her. He leant back in his chair, every nerve in his body
quivering, his young fresh face almost pale.