Enoch sat down beside her and took her
in his arms.
"Sweetheart," he whispered, "what have I done?"
Diana, shaken by dry sobs, did not reply. But she put her arms about
his neck and clung to him as though she could never let him go. Enoch
sat holding her in an ecstasy that was half pain. Dusk thickened into
night and the stars burned richly above them. Enoch could see that
Diana's face against his breast was quiet, her great eyes fastened on
the desert. He whispered again,
"Diana, what have I done?"
"You have made me love you so that I cannot bear to think of the
future," she replied. "It was not wise of us to take this trip
together, Enoch."
Enoch's arms tightened about her. "We'll be thankful all our lives for
it, Diana. And you haven't really answered my question, darling!"
Diana drew herself away from him. "Enoch, let's never mention the
subject again. The things you understand by weakness--why, I don't
care if you have a thousand of them! But, dear, I want the diary.
When you leave El Tovar, leave that much of yourself with me."
Enoch's voice was troubled. "I have been so curiously lonely! You can
have no idea of what the diary has meant to me."
"I won't ask you for it, Enoch!" exclaimed Diana.
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