for a long moment they gazed upon each other, then, even as he hastened
to her, she came to him on swift, light feet, and, flushing, tremulous,
quick-breathing, gave herself into his arms.

"Oh, Hermione, my beloved!" he murmured, his voice tense and eager,
"didn't I say enough, last time? Don't you know I love you--worship
you--hunger and yearn for you? I want you with every breath I draw.
When will you be my wife--oh, when will you marry me, Hermione?"

For answer she reached up her arms, sudden, passionate arms that clung
about him close and strong; so they stood thus, heart beating to heart,
thrilling at each other's nearness yet drawing ever closer until,
lifting her head, she gave her lips to his.

"Oh, my dear, my dear," she whispered, "is it right to love you so,
I wonder? I never thought it could be--like this. It frightens me
sometimes, because my love is so great and strong and I--so powerless.
Is it right? I--Oh!" she broke off breathlessly, "how can I speak if--if
you--"

"Kiss you so much?" he ended, "you can't speak, so--don't speak, my
Hermione!" But now, all at once, he started and glanced up among the
leaves above them.

"Dear," she whispered, "what is it?"

"That tapping sound," he answered, still gazing upward.

"It's only the woodpecker."