But she was blinded by tears and choked with utterance that would not come, and in the grip of a shuddering emotion that was realization of loss in a moment when she learned the supreme and imperious sweetness of love.
"Kiss me, Columbine," he demanded.
Through blurred eyes she saw his face, white and rapt, and she bent to it, meeting his lips with her first kiss which was her last.
"Again, Collie--again!" he begged.
"No--no more," she whispered, very low, and encircling his neck with her arms she hid her face and held him convulsively, and stifled the sobs that shook her.
Then Moore was silent, holding her with his free hand, breathing hard, and slowly quieting down.

Columbine felt then that he knew that there was something terribly wrong, and that perhaps he dared not voice his fear.

At any rate, he silently held her, waiting.

That silent wait grew unendurable for Columbine.

She wanted to prolong this moment that was to be all she could ever surrender.