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He followed her with his eyes, however, and saw how her long flowing garment adjusted itself to her lovely figure, and how her white veil fluttered about her noble head, enveloping it as with a delicate white cloud. "Would that I were the wind that kisses your cheek!" murmured he, lost in contemplation of his idol. "Would I were the sand your foot blesses with its touch!
It was one of the interests of Justine Brent's crowded yet lonely life to attempt a rapid mental classification of the persons she met; but the contradictions in Amherst's face baffled her, and she murmured inwardly "I don't know" as she drew aside to let him approach the bed.
They had even thus a renewed wait, as for proof of it; much as if he were letting her see, while the minutes lapsed for their concealed companions, that this was finally just why but just WHY! "You see," he presently added, "how right I was. Right, I mean, to do it for you." "Ah, rather!" she murmured with her smile.
The evil counsellors whispered bad advice in the king's ear; the courtiers murmured, with one consent, that Perseus had shown disrespect to their royal lord and master; and the great King Polydectes himself waved his hand, and ordered him, with the stern, deep voice of authority, on his peril, to produce the head. "Show me the Gorgon's head, or I will cut off your own!" And Perseus sighed.
"Dear friend," she said softly, "I cannot marry you! I shall never marry any one. Will you please believe that? It will make it so much easier for me." He was a little taken aback. She had changed her methods suddenly, and he had had no time to adapt himself to them. "Don't hate me, please," she murmured. "Indeed, it would make me very happy if we could be friends."
When the elder sister sprang forward, breathless with her haste, unable to utter anything but broken terms of endearment, Thyrza folded her in her arms, and, without a spoken word, kissed her with grave tenderness. Her cheeks had the most unwonted colour; her eyes gleamed, and as Lydia's caresses continued, glistened with moisture. 'Dear Lyddy! she murmured.
"No," he answered, repelling her gently, "keep that letter: it must never be opened now, except by the Marquise de Tregars." And raising her hand to his lips, and in a deeply agitated voice, "Farewell!" he murmured. "Have courage, and have hope." Mlle.
"I knew it would be hard," she murmured to herself, "That is I knew the facts but I didn't know the feeling!" She stood at the gate between the cypresses, sat waiting under the acacia boughs, walked restlessly up and down the path outside, the dry pepper berries crush softly under foot; bracing herself for one more struggle and the hardest of all.
Then he noticed that she was very white, and again she shivered. "You are cold and tired," he murmured, his eyes melting to hers. "It was entrancing, but I hope never to see you give so much of yourself to others again." His hand in arranging the reboso touched hers. It lingered, and she stared up at him, helplessly, her eyes wide, her lips parted.
"Louis!" she murmured in a tired baby's voice, after a few moments. He thought: "It's a good thing I didn't go out, and I'm glad Mrs. Tarns isn't here blundering about." "You're better?" he said mildly. She raised her arms and clasped him, dragging him to her with a force that was amazing under the circumstances. They kissed; their faces were merged for a long time.
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