"Have I made it up to you?"
He bent over the long, low chair in which she half reclined. "A thousand
times! Every day that I see you; every day that I think of you; with the
lightest touch of your hand; the sound of your voice; the turn of your
face toward me. I'm jealous of it and fearful of it. Can you wonder that
I live in a torment of dread lest something happen to bring it all to
ruin?"
She shook her head. "Nothing could. Unless--No. I won't say it. I want
you to want to marry me, Ban. But--I wonder."
As they talked, the little light of late afternoon had dwindled, until
in their nook they could see each other only as vague forms.
"Isn't there a table-lamp there?" she asked. "Turn it on."
He found and pulled the chain. The glow, softly shaded, irradiated Io's
lineaments, showing her thoughtful, somber, even a little apprehensive.
She lifted the shade and turned it to throw the direct rays upon
Banneker. He blinked.
"Do you mind?" she asked softly. Even more softly, she added, "Do you
remember?"
His mind veered back across the years, full of struggle, of triumph, of
emptiness, of fulfillment, to a night in another world; a world of
dreams, magic associations, high and peaceful ambitions, into which had
broken a voice and an appeal from the darkness.
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