"That's better," he said.
"Thank God!" Sylvia whispered.
His eyes were drooping heavily. He tried to keep them open. "Hold
my hand!" he murmured to her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, and took it between her own.
His finger pressed hers. "That's good, darling. Now I'm happy.
Wish we--could go on like this--always. Don't you?"
"No," she whispered back. "I want you well again."
"Ah!" His eyes were closing; he opened them again. "You mean
that, sweetheart? You really want me?"
"Of course I do," she said.
Guy was still smiling but there was pathos in his smile. "Ah, that
makes a difference," he said, "--all the difference. That means
you've quite forgiven me. Quite, Sylvia?"
"Quite," she answered, and she spoke straight from her heart. She
had forgotten Burke, forgotten Kieff, forgotten everyone in that
moment save Guy, the dear lover of her youth.
And he too was looking at her with eyes that saw her alone. "Kiss
me, little sweetheart!" he said softly. "And then I'll know--for
sure."
It was boyishly spoken, and she could not refuse. She had no
thought of refusing.
As in the old days when they had been young together, her heart
responded to the call of his. She leaned down to him instantly and
very lovingly, and kissed him.
"Sure you want me?" whispered Guy.
"God knows I do," she answered him very earnestly.
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