She was touched with tenderness and pity, and a certain unintelligible awe.

And she knew her hour.

She knew that if she closed her heart now, it would never open to him.

She knew that it was his hour as well as hers.

She felt, reverently, that it was, above all, God's hour.
She laid her hand on her husband's gift, saying to herself that if she took that crucifix she would be taking him with it into the holy places of her heart.
"I will take it." Her voice came shy and inarticulate as a marriage vow.
"Thank you," he said.
He wondered if she would turn to him with some sign of tenderness, whether she would stoop to him and touch him with her hand or her lips; or whether she looked to him to offer the first caress.
She did nothing.