Surely no one ever received the gift of love in stranger situation.

On the stairs leading down into that gloomy cellar where a murderer hid, his victim borne past as we talked; all about us silence and gloom hiding a mysterious crime; above us the heavy feet of men treading the echoing floor, and without the ceaseless roar of battle, volleying musketry, and hoarse shouting.

Yet it was all forgotten--the fierce fighting of the past, the passions of war, the sudden death, the surrounding peril--and we knew only we were together, alone, the words of love upon our lips.

I felt the pressure of her arms, and crushed her to me, every nerve throbbing with delight.
"Sweetheart, sweetheart," I whispered, "you have kept me in doubt so long." "It has only been because I also doubted," she answered,--"not my love, but my right to love.

To a Hardy honor is everything, and I was bound by honor.