We haven't the chance to do as we will."
A kind of titillation went over Peter's scalp and body.
"Then you are going to stay here and marry--Tump?" He uttered the name
in a queer voice.
Tears started in Cissie's eyes; her bosom lifted to her quick breathing.
"I--I don't know what I'm going to do," she stammered miserably.
Peter leaned over her with a drumming heart; he heard her catch her
breath.
"You don't care for Tump?" he asked with a dry mouth.
She gasped out something, and the next moment Peter felt her body sink
limply in his groping arms. They clung together closely, quiveringly.
Three nights of vigil, each thinking miserably and wistfully of the
other, had worn the nerves of both man and girl until they were ready to
melt together at a touch. Her soft body clinging to his own, the little
nervous pressures of her arms, her eased breathing at his neck, wiped
away Siner's long sense of strain. Strength and peace seemed to pour
from her being into his by a sort of spiritual osmosis. She resigned her
head to his palm in order that he might lift her lips to his when he
pleased.
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