eyes made him almost take her in his arms again, candles and all.
And then she turned with them and went to the table. He continued
to light candles until the sputtering glow of half a dozen of them
filled the room. It was a wretched wastefulness, but it was also a
moment in which he felt himself fighting to get hold of himself
properly. And he felt also the desire to be prodigal about
something. When he had lighted his sixth candle, and then faced
Celie, she was standing near the table looking at him so quietly
and so calmly and with such a wonderful faith in her eyes that he
thanked God devoutly he had kissed her only once--just that once!
It was a thrilling thought to know that SHE knew he loved her.
There was no doubt of it now. And the thought of what he might
have done in that darkness and in the moment of her helplessness
sickened him. He could look her straight in the eyes now--
unashamed and glad. And she was unashamed, even if a little
flushed at what had happened. The same thought was in their minds
--and he knew that she was not sorry. Her eyes and the quivering
tremble of a smile on her lips told him that. She had braided her
hair in that interval when she had gone to her room, and the braid
had fallen over her breast and lay there shimmering softly in the
candle-glow. He wanted to take her in his arms again. He wanted to
kiss her on the mouth and eyes. But instead of that he took the
silken braid gently in his two hands and crushed it against his
lips.

"I love you," he cried softly. "I love you."

He stood for a moment or two with his head bowed, the thrill of
her hair against his face. It was as if he was receiving some kind
of a wonderful benediction. And then in a voice that trembled a