Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 20, 2025
"There, sir," cried Sothern, and the clerk marvelled at the note in his voice which sounded so like pride of ownership, "there goes a man from whom the world shall hear one of these days. His feet are at last in the right path." The clerk, going to usher in Israel Weyeth, did not hear the last low words: "For which, thank God . . . and Ygerne Bellaire!"
A little after nine o'clock a man did stop at his door, carrying a note in his hand. Drennen's thoughts went swiftly to Ygerne, and a quickened beating of his heart sent the blood throbbing through him. But the note was from Sothern and said briefly: "I have gone on to Lebarge. You were not mistaken. But it is nobody's business but yours and mine.
And I, Sir Midas, will not be suspected then of falling in love with you as I am doing because you are rich and I have nothing!" "Then," said Drennen, "if you are not to be turned aside can I help? Will you tell me about it, Ygerne?" "Yes and yes," she answered eagerly. "I'll tell you and you can help.
But, in spite of her, her heart was beating wildly, the blood was running into her face until her cheeks were stained, red and hot with it. "Do you hate me . . . because I made you love me?" she asked, laughing a little, holding him back from her for the last deliciously shy second. "Do you hate me, Ygerne, because always I was brute to you?"
Again the moaning ceased; the woman turned so that her cheek lay upon the loose dirt of the broken floor, her eyes wide upon him. A sigh inflated his chest and fell away like a whisper of thanks. The woman was not Ygerne, thank God! "Go away!" She panted the words at him, venom in her glance. Then abruptly she turned her face from him. A swift revulsion of feeling swept through him.
Ygerne Bellaire, while she and Marshall Sothern had nursed David Drennen, had seen hourly all of the courtly, knightly gentleness and tenderness which was one side of the old man. Now she came swiftly to the edge of the bearskin. She, too, went down upon her knees at Sothern's side, just opposite Drennen. Her hands did not tremble as they grew red with the spurting blood.
She nodded, making her mouth smile at him while her eyes were gravely speculative. "Then," and his bow was in accord with the mockery of his tone, "I was thinking that for the reason best known to the King of Fools I'd like to kiss that red mouth of yours, Ygerne!" "You'd be the first man who had ever done so," she told him steadily. "Quite sure of that?" he sneered. "Yes."
She was busy with the careful buttoning of a glove, the left glove. The right hand she left bare. Not fifty steps from Marquette's Drennen laid his hand upon her arm. "Kiss me, Ygerne," he commanded quietly. There was little light, but he saw the glint of it upon the pistol in her hand. "You know what you would have to pay," she said coolly. "Is it worth it?"
There was no love but the old, primal love of life, a blind, unreasoning instinct. He did not love Ygerne; he had never loved Ygerne because, in the nature of nature, there could be no such thing as such a love. But hatred was another matter. That was nature. A man, with all of his bluster, cannot get away from nature. Don't the winters freeze and kill him? Doesn't water drown him, fire burn him?
Sefton and Lemarc, when they came, must enter through the door at the front. And he could do nothing but wait, his heart burning with the feverish hope that they would come before Max and the others. He drew a bench close to the door and sat down, his face turned so that he could at once watch Ygerne and Garcia and not lose sight of the door.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking