He stooped and picked it up, and stood looking at it,
running it through his hands, his head bent. It was white and sheer, a
mere gossamer--he must have stepped on it, for in one place it was torn,
in another slightly soiled. Sylvia, watching him, holding her breath,
could see the muscles of his white face growing tenser and tenser around
his set mouth, and still he did not glance at her or speak to her. At
last he unfolded it to its full size, and wrapped it about her, his eyes
giving her the smile which his lips could not.
"Nothing matters to me in the whole world either--except you," he said
brokenly. "I think these last few--dreadful days--have shown us both how
much we need each other, and that the memory of them will keep us closer
together all our lives. If there's any question of forgiveness between
us, it's all on my side now, not yours, and I don't think I can--talk
about it now. But I'll never forget how you came to me to-night, and,
please God, some day I'll be more worthy of--of your love and--and your
_trust_ than I've shown myself now.
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