There was no anger there.

She ran toward him.
"Oh, my dear," she cried, in a low, trembling voice, and his arms enclosed her.

As she felt them hold her to him, and knew indeed that it was he, her lover, whose lips bent down to hers, there broke from her a long sigh of such relief and such great uplifting happiness as comes but seldom, perhaps no more than once, in the life of any man or woman.

Her voice sank to a whisper, and yet was very clear and, to the man who heard it, sweet as never music was.
"Oh, my dear, my dear! You have come then ?" and she stroked his face, and her hands clung about his neck to make very sure.
"Were you afraid that I wouldn't come, Sylvia ?" he asked, with a low, quiet laugh.
She lifted her face into the moonlight, so that he saw at once the tears bright in her eyes and the smile trembling upon her lips.
"No," she said, "I rather thought that you would come," and she laughed as she spoke.

Or did she sob?
He could hardly tell, so near she was to both.