She did not resist, but resigned herself to his embrace, as if he still
had the right to take her in his arms, as if she still belonged to him.
She had been under a great, an indescribable strain for several hours,
and his sudden presence, the look in his eyes, the touch of his hands,
deprived her of the power of thought, of resistance. To her and to him,
at that moment, it was as if they had not been parted, as if the events
of the last few months were only visionary.

With surrender in every fibre of her being she lay in his arms, her
head upon his breast, her eyes closed, her heart throbbing wildly under
the kisses which he pressed passionately upon her lips, her hair; the
while he called upon her name, as if his lips hungered to pronounce it.

"Stafford!" she said, at last. "It is really you! When--" Her voice
died away, as if she were speaking in a dream, and her eyes closed with
a little shudder of perfect joy and rest.

"Yes, it's I!" he responded, in a voice almost as low as hers, a voice
that trembled with the intensity of his passion, his joy in having her
in his arms again. "Last night I came down by the first train--I waited
at the station for it--I came straight from the docks." She drew a
happy sigh.