“Yes, thankfulness—­sheer, fervent passionate gratitude!  What you have given me, what an inestimable boon, you yourself hardly know; but no emperor could reward love and fidelity more lavishly than you have done—­you, the care and the consolation, the pain and the joy of my life!  My mother told me—­it was the first thing she thought of—­how you shed tears of grief on her bosom when the false report of my death reached home.  Those tears fell as morning dew on the drooping hopes in my heart, they were a welcome such as few travellers find on their return home.  I am no orator, and if I were, how could speech in any way express my feelings?  But you know them—­you understand what it is, after so many years . . .”

“I know,” she said looking up into his eyes, and allowing him to seize her hand as he dropped on the bench by her side.  “If I did not I could not bear this—­and I freely confess that I shed many more tears over you than you could imagine.  You love me, Constantine . . .”

He threw his arm round her; but she disengaged herself, exclaiming: 

“Nay—­I implore you, not so—­not yet, till I have told you what troubles me, what keeps me from throwing myself wholly, freely into the arms of happiness.  I know what you will ask—­what you have a right to ask; but before you speak, Constantine, remember once more all that has so often saddened our life, even as children, that has torn us asunder like a whirlwind although, ever since we can remember, our hearts have flowed towards each other.  But I need not remind you of what binds us—­that we both know well, only too well. . . .”

“Nay,” he replied boldly:  “That we are only beginning to know in all its fullness and rapture.  The other thing the whirlwind of which you speak, has indeed tossed and tormented me, more than it has you perhaps; but since I have known that you could shed tears for me and love me I have had no more anxieties; I know for certain that all must come right!  You love me as I am, Gorgo.  I am no dreamer nor poet; but I can look forward to finding life lovely and noble if shared with you, so long as one—­only one thing is sure.  I ask you plainly and truly:  Is your heart as full of love for me as mine is for you?  When I was away did you think of me every day, every night, as I thought of you, day and night without fail?”

Gorgo’s head sank and blushes dyed her cheeks as she replied:  “I love you, and I have never even thought of any one else.  My thoughts and yearnings followed you all the while you were away . . . and yet . . . oh, Constantine!  That one thing . . .”

“It cannot part us,” said the young man passionately, “since we have love—­the mighty and gracious power which conquers all things!  When love beckon:  the whirlwind dies away like the breath from a child’s lips; it can bridge over any abyss; it created the world and preserves the existence of humanity, it can remove mountains—­and these are the most beautiful words of the greatest of the apostles:  ’It is long suffering and kind, it believes all things, hopes all things’ and it knows no end.  It remains with us till death and will teach us to find that peace whose bulwark and adornment, whose child and parent it is!”