And here, I was afraid you wouldn't tell me--before it happened.

And John--John----" She leaned back from him, and her white hands moved like swift shadows in her hair, and then, suddenly, it billowed about her--her glorious hair--covering her from crown to hip; and with her hands she swept and piled the lustrous masses of it over him until his face, and head, and shoulders were buried in the flaming sheen and sweet perfume of it.
He strained her closer.

Through the warm richness of her tresses his lips pressed her lips, and they ceased to breathe.

And up to their ears, pounding through that enveloping shroud of her hair came the _tick-tick-tick_ of the watch in his pocket.
"Joanne," he whispered.
"Yes, John." "You are not afraid of--death ?" "No, not when you are holding me like this, John." He still clasped her hands, and a sweet smile crept over her lips.
"Even now you are splendid," she said.

"Oh, I would have you that way, my John!" Again they stood up in the unsteady glow of the lanterns.
"What time is it ?" she asked.
He drew out his watch, and as they both looked his blood ran cold.
"Twelve minutes," she murmured, and there was not a quiver in her voice.
"Let us sit down, John--you on this box, and I on the floor, at your feet--like this." He seated himself on the box, and Joanne nestled herself at his knees, her hands clasped in his.
"I think, John," she said softly, "that very, very often we would have visited like this--you and I--in the evening." A lump choked him, and he could not answer.
"I would very often have come and perched myself at your feet like this." "Yes, yes, my beloved." "And you would always have told me how beautiful my hair was--always.