He glanced at the girl--the fair and innocent creature who
had, in his imagination, risen to a throne of imperial height, from
whence she could bestow on him death or salvation. How calm she seemed!
She was listening with courteous patience to a long story of
Macfarlane's whose Scotch accent rendered it difficult for her to
understand. She was pale, Philip thought, and her eyes were heavy; but
she smiled now and then,--such a smile! Even so sweetly might the
"kiss-worthy" lips of the Greek Aphrodite part, could that eloquent and
matchless marble for once breathe into life. He looked at her with a
sort of fear. Her hands held his fate. What if she could not love him?
What if he must lose her utterly? This idea overpowered him; his brain
whirled, and he suddenly pushed away his untasted glass of wine, and
rose abruptly from the table, heedless of the surprise his action
excited.
"Hullo, Phil, where are you off to?" cried Lorimer. "Wait for me!"
"Tired of our company, my lad?" said Gueldmar kindly, "You've had a long
day of it,--and what with the climbing and the strong air, no doubt
you'll be glad to turn in.
Pages:
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320