But it was an English voice which greeted them from the now darkened
doorway.
"It's all over!" Steven Caruthers said, entering with his companion and
slamming the door sharply to. "We have five minutes more. Mackay has
promised to keep them off just so long. Stafford, see to your wife!" He
spoke brutally, in a voice choked with dust and pain. The room was now in
pitch darkness. Harry Stafford felt his way across, his arms outstretched.
"Christine!" he called.
She came to him at once, with a step as firm and steady as a man's.
"Harry!" she cried, her voice ringing with an almost incredulous joy. "Oh,
my darling!"
He caught her to him and felt how calm her pulse had become.
"Are you afraid, my wife?"
"Not now. I am so happy!"
He knew, strange though it seemed, that this was true and natural, because
her love was stronger than life or the fear of death.
"Do you trust me absolutely, Christine?"
"Absolutely!"
"Give me both your hands--in my one hand--so. Kiss me, sweetheart."
In the same instant that his lips touched hers he lifted his right
disengaged hand, and something icy-cold brushed past her temple. She clung
to him.
"Not yet, Harry! Not yet! Oh, don't think I don't understand. I do, and I
am glad. If things had gone differently the time must have come when one
of us would have been left lonely. Now, we are going together. What does
it matter if it is a little sooner than we hoped? Only, not yet--just one
minute! We have time.
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