"Nan, didn't you _know_ it ?" She lifted her head.
"Yes.

I think--I think I knew you would come, Peter," she answered unsteadily.
The moonlight fell full upon her--upon a white, strained face with passionate, unkissed lips, and eyes that looked bravely into his, refusing to shirk the ultimate significance which underlay his question.
With a stifled exclamation he swept her up into his arms and his mouth met hers in the first kiss that had ever passed between them--a kiss which held infinite tenderness, and the fierce passion that is part of love, and a foreshadowing of the pain of separation.
"My beloved!" He held her a little away from him so that he might look into her face.

Then with a swift, passionate eagerness; "Say that you love me, Nan ?" "Why, Peter--Peter, you know it," she cried tremulously.

"It doesn't need telling, dear.

.