"I come close to you, holding you.

Perhaps I am royal, perhaps I am sacred.

If I hold you--Would God we could fly with my arms about you!--it may be, they will not shoot at you--" She clasped his shoulder and seized his hand as she spoke; she pressed herself nearer to him.

"It may be they will not shoot you," she repeated, and with a sudden passion of tenderness he took her into his arms and kissed her cheek.

For a space he held her.
"Even if it is death," she whispered.
She put her hands about his neck and lifted her face to his.
"Dearest, kiss me once more." He drew her to him.