And now we were on our feet, her hands in mine, eyes staring into eyes and never award to speak.
"Is it true?" says I at last, "God, Damaris--is it true?"
"Seems it so wonderful, dear Martin? Why, this love of mine reacheth back through the years to Sir Martin, my little knight-errant, and hath grown with the years till now it filleth me and the universe about me. Have you forgot 'twas your picture hung opposite my bed at home, your sword I kept bright because it had been yours? And often, Martin, here on our dear island I have wept sometimes for love of you because it pained me so! Nay, wait, beloved, first let me speak, though I do yearn for your kisses! But this night is the greatest ever was or mayhap ever shall be, and we, alone here in the wild, do lie beyond all human laws soever save those of our great love--and, O Martin, you--you do love me?"
Now when I would have answered I could not, so I sank to my knees and stooping ere she knew, clasped and kissed the pretty feet of her.
"No, Martin--beloved, ah no!" cries she as it were pain to her, and kneeling before me, set her soft arms about my neck. "Martin," says she, "as we kneel thus in this wilderness alone with God, here and now, before your lips touch mine, before your dear strong hands take me to have and hold forever, so great and trusting is my love I ask of you no pledge but this: Swear now in God's sight to renounce and put away all thought of vengeance now and for ever, swear this, Martin!"
Now I, all bemused by words so unexpected, all dazzled as it were by the pleading, passionate beauty of her, closed my eyes that I might think: "Give me until to-morrow--" I groaned.
"'Twill be too late! Choose now, Martin."
"Let me think--"
"'Tis no time for thought! Choose, Martin! This hour shall never come again, so, Martin--speak now or--"
The words died on her lip, her eyes opened in sudden dreadful amaze, and thus we remained, kneeling rigid in one another's arms, for, away across Deliverance, deep and full and clear a voice was singing: "There are two at the fore, At the main are three more, Dead men that swing all in a row; Here's fine dainty meat For the fishes to eat: Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy ho!"