e.

"What is it, darling? Are you crying? This is no day for tears."

"I little thought that I should have yourself to-day," she tried to say.

Then the tears came, tears of shame, big, hot, slow. They fell upon his
hand. She was weeping for joy, he thought. What else could any man think
in such a case? He drew her to him, and pressed her cheek with his hand
as her head nestled on his shoulder.

"When you put this ring on my finger, dear--so long ago----"

She sobbed aloud.

"No, darling--no, dear heart," he said, comforting her, "you must not
cry--that long ago is over now and gone for ever. Do you remember that
day, sweetheart, in the broad spring sun upon the terrace among the
lemon trees. No, dear--your tears hurt me always, even when they are
shed in happiness--no, dear, no. Rest there, let me dry your dear
eyes--so and so. Again? For ever, if you will. While you have tears,
I have kisses to dry them--it was so then, on that very day. I can
remember. I can see it all--and you. You have not changed, love, in all
those years, more than a blossom changes in one hour of a summer's day!
You took this ring and put it on my finger. Do you remember what I said?
I know the very words. I promised you--it needed no promise either--that
it should never leave its place until you took it back--and you--how
well I remember your face--you said that you would take it from my hand
some day, when all was well, when you should be free to give me another
in its stead, and to take one in return. I have kept my word, beloved.
Keep yours--I have brought you back the ring. Take it, sweetheart. It
is heavy with the burden of lonely years. Take it and give me that other
which I claim."

She did not speak, for she was fighting down the choking sobs,
struggling to keep back the burning drops that scalded her cheeks,
striving to gather strength for the weight of a greater shame. Lie, or
lose all, the voice said.

Very slowly she raised her head. She knew that his hand was close to
hers, held there that she might fulfil Beatrice's promise. Was she not
free? Could she not give him what he asked? No matter how--she tried to
say it to herself and could not. She felt his breath upon her hair. He
was waiting. If she did not act soon or speak he would wonder what held
her back--wonder--suspicion next and then? She put out her hand to touch
his fingers, half blinded, groping as though she could not see. He made
it easy for her. He fancied she