The blood rushed to her face, her bosom rose and fell, and, her face
grown pale again, her eyes gazed up into his half fiercely, half
appealingly; then suddenly they grew moist, as if with tears, her lips
quivered, and from them came, as if involuntarily, the words of
surrender, the maiden confession: "I love you!"

He uttered a low, sharp cry, the expression of his heart's delight, his
soul's triumph.

"You love me! Ida! How--how do you know--when?" She shook her head and
sighed, as she pressed her cheek against his breast.

"I don't know. It was just now--the moment when you kissed me. Then it
came to me suddenly--the knowledge--the truth. It was as if a flash of
light had revealed it to me. Oh, yes, I love you. I wish--almost I wish
that I did not, for--it hurts me!"

She pressed her hand to her heart, and gazed up at him with the wonder
of a child who is meeting its first experience of the strange
commingling of pain and joy.

He raised her in his arms until her face was against his.

"I know--dearest," he said, almost in a whisper. "It is love--it is
always so, I think. My heart is aching with longing for you, and yet I
am happy--my God, how happy! And you? Tell me, Ida?"

"Yes, I am happy," she breathed, with a deep sigh, as she nestled still
closer to him. "It is all so strange--so unreal!"