What was it that suddenly pierced him as he leaned there?  No sound above that mighty tumult could possibly have reached him.  No movement beyond that single flickering flame could have caught his vision.  No touch was laid upon him.  Yet suddenly he jerked upright with every nerve a-quiver—­and beheld her!

She stood in the doorway, gasping for breath, clinging to the woodwork for support, with Death behind her, but no fear of Death in her eyes.  They held instead a glory which he had never seen before.

He stood and gazed upon her, unbelieving, afraid to move.  His lips formed her name.  And, as one who springs from tempest into safe shelter, Sylvia sprang to him.  Her arms were all about him before he knew that she was not a dream.

He clasped her then with such a rush of wonder and joy as nearly deprived him of the power to think.  And in that moment their lips met in a kiss that was close and sacred, uniting each to each beyond all severance—­a soul communion.

Burke was trembling as she had never known him tremble before.  “Why—­have you come back?” he said, as speech returned.

She answered him swiftly and passionately, clinging faster with the words:  “Because—­God knows—­I would rather die with you—­than—­than live without you!  I love you so!  Oh, don’t you understand?”

Yes, he understood, though all else were beyond his comprehension.  Never again would he question that amazing truth that had burst upon him here at the very Gate of Death, changing the whole world.

He looked down upon her as he held her, the light from the candle shining through her hair, her vivid face uplifted to his, her eyes wide and glowing, seeing him alone.  No, he needed no words to tell him that.

And then suddenly the roar without increased a hundredfold.  A shrieking wind tore past, and in a moment the flickering light went out.  They stood in darkness.

Her arms clasped his neck more closely.  He felt the coming agony in her hold.  She spoke again, her lips against his own.  “Through the grave—­and Gate of Death—­” she said.

That aroused him.  A strength that was titanic entered into him.  Why should they wait here for Death?  At least they would make a fight for it, however small their chance.  He suddenly realized that mortal life had become desirable again—­a thing worth fighting for—­a precious gift.

He bent, as he had bent on that first night at the farm—­how long ago!—­and gathered her up into his arms.

A rush of water swirled about his knees as he made for the dim opening.  The bank had gone.  Yet the rise in the ground would give them a few seconds.  He counted upon the chance.  Out into the open he stumbled.

The water was up to his waist here.  He floundered on the yielding ground.

“Don’t carry me!” she said.  “I can wade too.  Let me hold your hand!”

But he would not let her go out of his arms.  His strength in that moment was as the strength of ten.  He knew that unless the flood actually overwhelmed him, it would not fail.