Smith and the Pharaohs, and other Tales by H. Rider (Henry Rider) Haggard
page 101 of 300 (33%)
page 101 of 300 (33%)
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In another second it had ended, as she thought that it would end and had intended that it should end. The great strong man was down--yes, down on his knees before her, one trembling hand catching at the arm of her chair, and the other clasping her tapering fingers. There was no hesitation or awkwardness about him now, the greatness of his long-pent passion inspired him, and he told her all without let or stop--all that he had suffered for her sake throughout those lonely years, all his wretched hopelessness, keeping nothing back. Much she did not understand; such a passion as this was too deep to be fathomed by her shallow lines, too soaring for her to net in her world-straitened imagination. Once or twice even his exalted notions made her smile: it seemed ridiculous, knowing the world as she did, that any man should think thus of _any_ woman. Nor, when at length he had finished, did she attempt an answer, feeling that her strength lay in silence, for she had a poor case. At least, the only argument that she used was a purely feminine one, but perfectly effective. She bent her beautiful face towards him, and he kissed it again and again. IV The revulsion of feeling experienced by Bottles as he hurried back to the Albany to dress for dinner--for he was to dine with his brother at one of his clubs that night--was so extraordinary and overwhelming that it took him, figuratively speaking, off his legs. As yet his mind, so long accustomed to perpetual misfortune in this, the ruling passion of his life, could not quite grasp his luck. That he should, after all, |
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