"I have waited for you--ah, so long!" And Halcyone allowed herself to be clasped next his heart, and then drawn to the bench, where they sat down, blissfully content.
They had such a number of things to tell one another about love.

He who had always scoffed at its existence was now eloquent in his explanation of the mystery.

And Halcyone, who had never had any doubts, put her beautiful thoughts into words.

Love meant everything--it was just he, John Derringham.

She was no more herself, but had come to dwell in him.
She was tender and absolutely pure in her broad loyalty, concealing nothing of her fondness, letting him see that if she were Mistress of the Night, he was Master of her Soul.
And the complete subservience of herself, the sublime transparency without subterfuge of her surrender, appealed to everything of chivalry which his nature held.
"Since the beginning," she whispered, in that soft, sweet voice of hers which seemed to him to be of the angels, "ever since the beginning, John, when I was a little ignorant girl, it has always been you.