"Rest now, while you have a chance," she begged of her husband.
"Just for a little while."
"All right," he agreed. "Call me in--an hour. Couldn't sleep--
wasn't time." He shook off his weariness and smiled at his wife,
while his eyes filmed with some emotion. "There is something I
ought to tell you, but--I can't now--not now. Too sleepy." His
head drooped again; she forced him back; he stretched himself out
with a sigh, and was asleep almost instantly.
Alaire motioned the others out of the room, then stood looking
down at the man into whose keeping she had given her life. As she
looked her face became radiant. Dave was unkempt, unshaven, dirty,
but to her he was of a godlike beauty, and the knowledge that he
was hers to comfort and guard was strangely thrilling. Her love
for Ed, even that first love of her girlhood, had been nothing
like this. How could it have been like this? she asked herself.
How could she have loved deeply when, at the time, her own nature
lacked depth? Experience had broadened her, and suffering had
uncovered depths in her being which nothing else had had the power
to uncover. Stooping, she kissed Dave softly, then let her cheek
rest against his.
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