All this time my gaze had been riveted on her only. But when
she lifted her white face, tried to lift it, rather, and he drew her up,
and then when both white faces met and seemed to blend in something
rapt, awesome, tragic as life--then I saw Steele.
I saw a god, a man as beautiful as she was. They might have stood,
indeed, they did stand alone in the heart of a desert--alone in the
world--alone with their love and their agony. It was a solemn and
profound moment for me. I faintly realized how great it must have been
for them, yet all the while there hammered at my mind the vital thing at
stake. Had they forgotten, while I remembered? It might have been only a
moment that he held her. It might have been my own agitation that
conjured up such swift and whirling thoughts. But if my mind sometimes
played me false my eyes never had. I thought I saw Diane Sampson die in
Steele's arms; I could have sworn his heart was breaking; and mine was
on the point of breaking, too.
How beautiful they were! How strong, how mercifully strong, yet shaken,
he seemed! How tenderly, hopelessly, fatally appealing she was in that
hour of her broken life! If I had been Steele I would have forsworn my
duty, honor, name, service for her sake.
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