Book-bot.com - read famous books online for free

The Wings of the Morning by Louis Tracy
page 32 of 373 (08%)
Forgetful of his own aching limbs in this newborn anxiety, he sank on
one knee and gently pillowed Iris's head and shoulders on the other.
Her eyes were closed, her lips and teeth firmly set--a fact to which
she undoubtedly owed her life, else she would have been suffocated--and
the pallor of her skin seemed to be that terrible bloodless hue which
indicates death. The stern lines in the man's face relaxed, and
something blurred his vision. He was weak from exhaustion and want of
food. For the moment his emotions were easily aroused.

"Oh, it is pitiful," he almost whimpered. "It cannot be!"

With a gesture of despair he drew the sleeve of his thick jersey across
his eyes to clear them from the gathering mist. Then he tremblingly
endeavored to open the neck of her dress and unclasp her corsets. He
had a vague notion that ladies in a fainting condition required such
treatment, and he was desperately resolved to bring Iris Deane back to
conscious existence if it were possible. His task was rendered
difficult by the waistband of her dress. He slipped out a clasp-knife
and opened the blade.

Not until then did he discover that the nail of the forefinger on his
right hand had been torn out by the quick, probably during his
endeavors to grasp the unsteady support which contributed so materially
to his escape. It still hung by a shred and hindered the free use of
his hand. Without any hesitation he seized the offending nail in his
teeth and completed the surgical operation by a rapid jerk.

Bending to resume his task he was startled to find the girl's eyes wide
open and surveying him with shadowy alarm. She was quite conscious,
absurdly so in a sense, and had noticed his strange action.
DigitalOcean Referral Badge