yes.

"You are not always happy, too?" he asked.

"No, not always, Eric; not very often, I think."

"You have a trouble?"

"Yes, but I cannot put it into words. Perhaps if I could do that, I
could cure it."

He clasped his hands together over his heart, as children do when
they pray, and said falteringly, "If I own all the world, I give him
you."

Margaret felt a sudden moisture in her eyes, and laid her hand on
his.

"Thank you, Eric; I believe you would. But perhaps even then I
should not be happy. Perhaps I have too much of it already."

She did not take her hand away from him; she did not dare. She sat
still and waited for the traditions in which she had always believed
to speak and save her. But they were dumb. She belonged to an
ultra-refined civilization which tries to cheat nature with elegant
sophistries. Cheat nature? Bah! One generation may do it, perhaps
two, but the third---- Can we ever rise above nature or sink below
her? Did she not turn on Jerusalem as upon Sodom, upon St. Anthony
in his desert as upon Nero in his seraglio? Does she not always cry
in brutal triumph: "I am here still, at the bottom of things,
warming the roots of life; you cannot starve me nor tame me nor
thwart me; I made the world, I rule it, and I am its destiny."

This woman, on a windmill tower at the world's end with a giant
barbarian, heard that cry to-night, and she was afraid! Ah! the
terror and the delight of that moment when first we fear ourselves!
Until then we have not lived.

"Come, Eric, let us go down; the moon is up and the music has begun
again," she said.

He rose silently and stepped down upon the ladder, putting his arm
about her to help her. That arm could have thrown Thor's hammer out
in the cornfields yonder, yet it scarcely touched her, and his hand
trembled as it had done in the dance. His face was level with hers
now and the moonlight fell sharply upon it. All her life she had
searched the faces of men for the look that lay in his eyes. She
knew that that look had never shone for her before, would never
shine for her on earth again, that such love comes to one only in
dreams or in impossible places like this, unattainable always. This
was Love's self, in a moment it would die. Stung by the agonized
appeal that emanated from the man's whole being, she leaned forward
and laid her lips on his. Once, twice and again she heard the deep
respirations rattle in his throat while she held them there, and