It was so mysteriously great a thing that they felt near
to awe.
"I fought too long. I wore out my body's endurance, and now I am quaking
like a boy. Red Godwyn did not begin his wooing like this. Forgive me,"
Mount Dunstan said at last.
"Do you know," with lovely trembling lips and voice, "that for
long--long--you have been unkind to me?"
It was merely human that he should swiftly enfold her again, and answer
with his lips against her cheek.
"Unkind! Unkind! Oh, the heavenly woman's sweetness of your telling me
so--the heavenly sweetness of it!" he exclaimed passionately and
low. "And I was one of those who are 'by the roadside everywhere,' an
unkempt, raging beggar, who might not decently ask you for a crust."
"It was all wrong--wrong!" she whispered back to him, and he poured
forth the tenderest, fierce words of confession and prayer, and she
listened, drinking them in, with now and then a soft sob pressed against
the roughness of the enrapturing tweed. For a space they had both
forgotten her hurt, because there are other things than terror which
hypnotise pain. Mount Dunstan was to be praised for remembering it
first. He must take her back to Stornham and her sister without further
delay.
Pages:
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920