Part 52 (1/2)
”Myra.”
He hardly heard her ”yes.”
”There's been a miracle in my life this year.”
”Yes?”
”The way you came down and took hold and made good.”
”Thank you,” very faintly.
”It was the biggest thing that came my way.”
Silence.
”I was noticing it, Myra, out of the tail of my eye.”
Myra tried to laugh. It sounded more like a dull sob.
”I haven't time to be polite.”
”Don't want you to,” Myra blurted.
”Strange,” said Joe, ”how things come about. h.e.l.lo, Mr. Squirrel! Want a peanut? None on the premises. Sorry. Good-day!”
He leaned over, picked a bit of ice, and flung it in the air.
”Myra,” he muttered. ”I need a rest.”
”You do,” almost inaudible.
”I need--Didn't I say, no peanuts? No means no! Good-day!”
He turned about laughing.
”What do you think of that for a pesky little animal?”
”Joe!” she cried in her agony.
Joe said nothing, but stared, and a great sob shook him and escaped his lips.
”Myra!!”
He had her in his arms; he kissed her on the lips--that new kiss, sealing those others. And the wonderful moment came and went; the moment when two flames leap into one fire; when two lives das.h.i.+ng upon each other blend into one wonderful torrent. They did not mind the publicity of the place that afternoon; they were quite oblivious of the world.
They were in another realm, breathing another air, treading a different earth. It was too sacred for words, too miraculous for aught but the beating of their living hearts, the pulse of singing blood, the secret in their brains. Their years fell away. They were youth itself, dabbling with the miracles of the world; they were boy and girl, new-created man and woman. The world was a garden, and they were alone in that garden, and nothing but beauty was in that place. They had each other to behold and hear and touch and commune with. That was enough....
”Joe,” said Myra, when the first glory had faded and they were conversing sweetly, ”I made up my mind to save you, and I did!”