Their perfume poured through the window and filled the
room.
Socola seated himself deliberately by her side and held her gaze with
direct purpose. She saw and understood and her heart beat in quick
response.
"You realize that you _are_ the incarnate Cause of the South for me?"
She smiled triumphantly.
"I have always known it."
There was no silly boasting in her tones, no trace of the Southern
girl's light mood with one of her numerous beaux. Her words were spoken
with deliberate tenderness.
"And yet how deeply and wonderfully you could not know--"
"I have guessed perhaps--"
He took her hand in his.
"I love you, Jennie--"
Her voice was the tenderest whisper.
"And I love you, my sweetheart--"
He clasped her in his arms and held her in silence.
She pushed him at arm's length and looked wistfully into his face.
"For the past month my heart has been singing. Through all the shame and
misery of the sacking of our home, I could laugh and be happy--foolishly
happy, because I knew that you loved me--"
"How did you know?"
"You told me--"
"When?"
"With the last little touch of your hand when I went South."
He pressed it with desperate tenderness.
"It shall be forever?"
"Forever!"
"Neither life nor death, nor height nor depth can separate us?"
"What could separate us, my lover? You are mine.
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