Trembling with keen triumph, his heart was white as a star as
he drove his kisses nearer.
"My love!" she called, in a low voice, from afar. The low
sound seemed to call to him from far off, under the moon, to him
who was unaware. He stopped, quivered, and listened.
"My love," came again the low, plaintive call, like a bird
unseen in the night.
He was afraid. His heart quivered and broke. He was
stopped.
"Anna," he said, as if he answered her from a distance,
unsure.
"My love."
And he drew near, and she drew near.
"Anna," he said, in wonder and the birthpain of love.
"My love," she said, her voice growing rapturous. And they
kissed on the mouth, in rapture and surprise, long, real kisses.
The kiss lasted, there among the moonlight. He kissed her again,
and she kissed him. And again they were kissing together. Till
something happened in him, he was strange. He wanted her. He
wanted her exceedingly. She was something new. They stood there
folded, suspended in the night. And his whole being quivered
with surprise, as from a blow. He wanted her, and he wanted to
tell her so. But the shock was too great to him. He had never
realized before. He trembled with irritation and unusedness, he
did not know what to do. He held her more gently, gently, much
more gently. The conflict was gone by. And he was glad, and
breathless, and almost in tears. But he knew he wanted her.
Something fixed in him for ever. He was hers. And he was very
glad and afraid. He did not know what to do, as they stood there
in the open, moonlit field. He looked through her hair at the
moon, which seemed to swim liquid-bright.
She sighed, and seemed to wake up, then she kissed him again.
Then she loosened herself away from him and took his hand. It
hurt him when she drew away from his breast. It hurt him with a
chagrin. Why did she draw away from him? But she held his
hand.
"I want to go home," she said, looking at him in a way he
could not understand.
He held close to her hand. He was dazed and he could not
move, he did not know how to move. She drew him away.
He walked helplessly beside her, holding her hand. She went
with bent head. Suddenly he said, as the simple solution stated
itself to him: "We'll get married, Anna."
She was silent.
"We'll get married, Anna, shall we?"
She stopped in the field again and kissed him, clinging to
him passionately, in a way he could not understand. He could not
understand. But he left it all now, to marriage. That was the
solution now, fixed ahead. He wanted her, he wanted to be
married to her, he wanted to have her altogether, as his own for
ever. And he waited, intent, for the accomplishment. But there
was all the while a slight tension of irritation.