"Oh, if you only felt to me like I do to you!" she sobbed.
No man can hear without some return of emotion a confession from a
woman's lips that she loves him. Harriet was the only girl whom
Julian had ever approached in familiar intercourse; she had no rival
to fear amongst living women; the one rival to be dreaded was
altogether out of the sphere of her conceptions,--the ideal love
of a poet's heart and brain. But the ideal is often least present to
us when most needed. Here was love; offer but love to a poet, and
does he pause to gauge its quality? The sudden whirl of conflicting
emotions left Julian at the mercy of the instant's impulse. She was
weak; she was suffering through him; she loved him.
"Be my wife, then," he whispered, returning her embrace, "and let me
guard you from all who would do you harm."
She uttered a cry of delight, and the cry was a true one.
CHAPTER XIV
NEAR AND FAR
Osmond Waymark was light-hearted; and with him such a state meant
something not at all to be understood by those with whom lightness
of heart is a chronic affection. The man who dwells for long periods
face to face with the bitter truths of life learns so to distrust a
fleeting moment of joy, gives habitually so cold a reception to the
tardy messenger of delight, that, when the bright guest outdares his
churlishness and perforce tarries with him, there ensues a
passionate revulsion unknown to hearts which open readily to every
fluttering illusive bliss.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209