"Norah," he muttered. "Oh, Norah."
He felt as though almost swooning from delight. It was a rapture that
he had never known--a voluptuous joy that yet brought with it complete
appeasement to nerves and pulses.
"Norah, Norah;" and he continued to kiss her lips and mutter her name.
All thought had gone. It was as though all that was trouble and pain
inside him had melted into sweet streams of delight--streams of fire;
but a magical flame that soothes and restores, instead of burning and
destroying. He went on fondling her, glorying in her freshness, her
immature grace, her youthful beauty. And she was silent and passive,
yielding to his gentle movements, pressing close if he held her to
him, relaxing the pressure and becoming limp if he wished to see her
face and held her from him, making him understand by messages through
every sense channel that she was his absolutely.
Then after a while she began to talk in the pretty birdlike whisper
that enchanted and enthralled him.
"Why didn't she want me to come here--really?"
"She--she thought you came to meet some lad."
"Oh, no;" and she gave a little laugh, and pressed against him. "It's
the truth, what I've always answered to her. I came because I couldn't
help it.
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