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She could never afterward recall how long the duel lasted, or what was the decisive stroke which finally, after a lapse of time recorded in minutes by the clock, in hours by the precipitate beat of her pulses, put her in possession of the letters; she knew only that the door had finally closed, and that she stood alone with the packet in her hand.
Keeping as still as statues, the boys waited in silence with both pairs of eyes steadily fixed upon the dark objects, and the pulses of each gave a sudden jump, for then the points moved and sank among the long grass. "Antelope! Those are horns!" decided Alf, to which Bob returned, with a sly dig at his chum's ribs "'Horns? Antlers, you old duffer! We're not hunting cows!"
It was very brief, yet when 'twas finished she wished, with all her heart, she could escape to her own room and read it once again, all by herself. It was the first letter in the least like it she ever received. It made her pulses bound, and it put her mettle to the test to turn at once to conversation with the one youth who had received no letter.
You send that boy down an' we'll talk it over. Shouldn't wonder if he'd get some backin'. I calculate I might help him, myself, he sez, 'I b'en thinkin' of it too.... Don't seem like it could hardly be true." "Oh, Maw!" Luke's pulses were leaping wildly. Buckwheat honey was the dear dream of many a long hour's wistful meditation.
About five o'clock Henry VIII. awoke out of an unrefreshing nap, and muttered to himself, "Troublous dreams, troublous dreams! Mine end is now at hand: so say these warnings, and my failing pulses do confirm it." Presently a wicked light flamed up in his eye, and he muttered, "Yet will not I die till HE go before."
At first she half wished he had chosen Hortense, then a bit of jealousy and a bit of triumph surged through her slow pulses. Antoine Beeson walked home on the side of M. De Ber. The children old enough to go to church were ranged in a procession behind. Pierre guarded his sisters.
The pulses still vibrated, but it was heavily, and like the irregular and faltering evolutions of the mill, which the dying breeze is ceasing to fan. The pallid countenance was fixed in its expression of anguish. Color there was none, even the lips resembling the unnatural character which is given by images of wax.
And the air had the dry, acrid tang of dust which has lain waiting for centuries. It was hot, whereas the other chambers had been cool or else McLean's disturbed blood was pumping too furiously through his pulses.
They were there every morning, glittering in the equally persistent sunlight, to chase the San Franciscan from his slumber; they were there at midday, to stir his pulses with their beat; they were there again at night, to hurry him through the bleak and flaring gas-lit streets to bed.
Like a man who reenters a closed and darkened house and lies down; lying there, remains conscious of sunlight outside, of bird-calls, and the breeze in the trees, so had Drene entered into the obscurity of himself. Through the chambers of his brain the twilit corridors where cringed his bruised and disfigured soul, there nothing stirring except the automatic pulses which never cease.
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