Her head was on his shoulder, and she stood looking at him a long while without speaking.
“Then you do love me, dearest? Tell me so again.”
Kissing her gently on the mouth and eyes, he answered—
“You know very well that I do. Come and see me to-morrow. Say you will, for I must go now.”
“Go now!”
“Do you know what time it is? It is past seven.”
She followed him to the gate of the little garden. The lamps were lighted far away in the suburbs. Again he asked her to come and see him.
“I cannot to-morrow; to-morrow will be Sunday.”
His footsteps echoed through the chill twilight, and seeing a thin moon afloat like a feather in the sky, she thought of Omar’s moon, that used to seek the lovers in their garden, and that one evening sought one of them in vain.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There was no o
