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"Thelma! Thelma!" he whispered, "I love you, my darling--I love you!"
She trembled in his strong embrace, and strove to release herself, but
he pressed her more closely to him, scarcely knowing that he did so, but
feeling that he held the world, life, time, happiness, and salvation in
this one fair creature. His brain was in a wild whirl--the glitter of
the stalactite cave turned to a gyrating wheel of jewel-work, there was
nothing any more--no universe, no existence--nothing but love, love,
love, beating strong hammer-strokes through every fibre of his frame. He
glanced up, and saw that the slowly retreating forms of his friends had
nearly reached the outer opening of the cavern. Once there, they would
look back and--
"Quick, Thelma!" and his warm breath touched her cheek. "My darling! my
love! if you are not angry,--kiss me! I shall understand."
She hesitated. To Philip that instant of hesitation seemed a cycle of
slow revolving years. Timidly she lifted her head. She was very pale,
and her breath came and went quickly.


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