She was passing quite close to us on the deck, following the carrier,
when she stumbled and very nearly fell. I was nearest to her. I leaped
forward and caught her as she nearly went down.
With my arm about her, I raised her up and set her upon her feet
again. She had twisted her ankle. She balanced herself upon it. The
pain of it eased up in a moment.
"I'm all right--thank you!"
In the dimness of the blue lit deck I met her eyes. I was holding her
with my encircling arm. She was small and soft against me. Her face,
framed in the thick, black hair, smiled up at me. Small, oval
face--beautiful--yet firm of chin, and stamped with the mark of its
own individuality. No empty-headed beauty, this.
"I'm all right, thank you very much--"
I became conscious that I had not released her. I felt her hands
pushing at me. And then it seemed that for an instant she yielded and
was clinging. And I met her startled upflung gaze. Eyes like a purple
night with the sheen of misty starlight in them.
I heard myself murmuring, "I beg your pardon. Yes, of course!" I
released her.
She thanked me again and followed the carriers along the deck. She was
limping slightly.
An instant she had clung to me. A brief flash of something, from her
eyes to mine--from mine back to hers. The poets write that love can be
born of such a glance. The first meeting, across all the barriers of
which love springs unsought, unbidden--defiant, sometimes. And the
troubadours of old would sing: "A fleeting glance; a touch; two wildly
beating hearts--and love was born."