Vision House

Marise began to cry again, twice as hard as before.

"There is – something else of yours I'd care to have," she choked, "if – if it isn't too late."

"It's never too late."

"But you don't know what I mean."

"No. Not yet – "

"I mean – your love. You said – I'd killed it."

Garth took one step from the middle of the little sitting-room to the sofa, and sat down beside the girl. He crowded her as Severance had done that afternoon, but she didn't move an inch.

"I didn't say that!" He spoke the words in her hair – that silky hair which had seemed too divine to touch. "I asked you how much you thought it took to kill love. But nothing could kill mine for you. Nothing on earth or in hell. And I have been in hell, Marise."

"Come to heaven with me, then," she whispered, and clasped his neck with both her young arms. Her cheek, wet with tears, was pressed against his.

"You —mean it?" he stammered.

"Yes – yes. I love you! Because – you're so queer, you made me, somehow. I know now I never really loved anyone but you. And I never will if – you care!"

"Care? I'm in heaven already." He framed her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips, a long, long kiss that made up for everything.

"In heaven?" she murmured. "So am I. But it will be better at Vision House. Dear Vision House. Dear home!"

Garth sprang up, bringing her with him, his arm round her waist.

"Let's go now!" he said.

THE END