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Carlia seated herself with the driver, while Dorian took the back seat. They were soon speeding along the road which led to Greenstreet. The cool night air fanned Dorian's hot face. Conversation ceased. Even Carlia and the driver were silent. The moon peeped over the eastern hills. The country-side was silent. Dorian thought of the strange events of the evening. This Mr.
He was talking deliriously, calling in broken sentences for help. Dorian's hesitancy for an instant was only to determine what was the best thing to do. "Hold on a bit longer, Mr. Lamont," said Dorian; but it was doubtful whether the injured man understood. He glared at his rescuer with unseeing eyes.
The wife went freely in and out of the room, the children also; but somewhat to Dorian's surprise, no Carlia appeared. If she were there in the house, she surely would be helping with the meal which seemed to be in the way of preparation. The storm continued all afternoon. There could be no thought of moving on that day.
She knew somewhat of his feelings toward Carlia. These lovers' misunderstandings were not serious, she thought to herself. All would end properly and well, in good time. But Carlia was in Dorian's thought very often, much to his bewilderment of heart and mind.
Another picture showed a high, camel-backed bridge, impossible to cross by anything more real than the artist's fancy. Mrs. Trent had chosen the bridge because of its pretty colors. "Where shall we hang Dorian's picture?" Mildred had asked. They had gone into his room. Mildred had looked about. "The only good light is on that wall." She had pointed to the space occupied by Dorian's "best girl."
It is clean and pure and undefiled by the many worldly elements which often enter into the more mature lovemaking. Perhaps Mildred Brown's entrance into Dorian's life did not differ from like incidents in many lives, but to him it was something holy. Dorian at this time never admitted to himself that he was in love with the girl. He sensed very well that she was far above him in every way.
You were her lover, were you not? you were out with her in the fields many times until midnight, you " The accusing mouth closed there, closed by the mighty impact of Dorian's fist. The blood spurted from a gashed lip, and Mr. Lamont tried to defend himself. Again Dorian's stinging blow fell upon the other's face.
When that was accomplished, Dorian's watch showed half past eleven. He picked up the lantern and the hoe, and they walked back to the house. "The party was quite complete, after all," he said at the door. "I've enjoyed this little after-affair as much as I did the party." "I'm glad," she whispered. "And it was wonderfully good of you to give me that present." "I'm glad," she repeated.
The girl raised her head, swiftly dashed the tears from her eyes, then with a sad effort to smile, said: "Nothing, mother, nothing at all. I'm going to bed. Where's father?" "He was called out to Uncle Zed's who is sick. Dorian's mother is there with him too, I understand." "Then I'd better go for her," said the young man. "I'll say goodnight. Poor Uncle Zed; he hasn't been well lately.
This was agreed upon; Dorian's name though, by the way, he was a wealthy ironmaster, and in no sense a Communard being put at the head of the list. This included Flourens himself, Victor Hugo, Louis Blanc, Raspail, Mottu, Delescluze, Blanqui, Ledru-Rollin, Rochefort, Felix Pyat, Ranvier, and Avrial.
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