His hand is mine

He and I stood together, and his hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two, who had never seen each other until that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other.

I have marveled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I would go out to him so, and, as he has often told me, there was in him also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us.