His action, his tone, above all his look, broke down the last of the
barrier between them. She went into his arms with a shaky little laugh,
and hid her face against him.
"I would have told you long ago," she whispered, "only somehow--I
couldn't. Besides, I was so sure that you knew."
"Oh, yes, I knew," said Mercer. "Curtis saw to that; literally flayed me
with it till I took his advice and cleared out. You know, I've often
wondered since if it was that that made you want me, after all."
She shook her head, still with her face against his breast.
"No, dear, it wasn't. It--it made things worse at first. It was only
when I heard you were ill that--that I found--quite suddenly--that I
couldn't possibly go on without you. It was as if--as if something bound
round my heart had suddenly given way, and I could breathe again. When I
saw you I knew how terribly I wanted you."
"And that was how you came to kiss me with that loathsome disease upon
me?" he whispered. "That was what made you follow me down to hell to
bring me back?"
She turned her face upwards. Her eyes were shining.
"My dear," she said, and in her voice was a thrill like the first sweet
notes of a bird in the dawning, "you don't need to ask me why did these
things.
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