Some moments passed, then he heard his name murmured.

He did not look round.
'Everard, dearest--' Was that Rhoda's voice, so low, tender, caressing?
It thrilled him, and with a silent laugh of scorn at his own folly, he turned to her, every thought burnt up in passion.
'Will you kiss me ?' For an answer she laid her hands on his shoulders and gazed at him.
Barfoot understood.

He smiled constrainedly, and said in a low voice,-- 'You wish for that old, idle form-- ?' 'Not the religious form, which has no meaning for either of us, But--' 'You have been living here seven or eight days.

Stay till the fifteenth, then we can get a licence from the registrar of the district.

Does that please you ?' Her eyes made reply.
'Do you love me any the less, Everard ?' 'Kiss me.' She did, and consciousness was lost for them as their mouths clung together and their hearts throbbed like one.
'Isn't it better ?' Rhoda asked, as they walked back in the darkness.
'Won't it make our life so much simpler and happier ?' 'Perhaps.' 'You know it will.' She laughed joyously, trying to meet his look.
'Perhaps you are right.' 'I shall let no one hear of it until--.