The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (2.1894)

134 Passed

ing the bürden on my breast. Now, without remembrance of it,
I started up to escape. The violent suddenness of the action woke
my companion. She staggered blindly to her feet and confronted
me as I gained the door.

Scarcely able to stand, and dashing the dimness from her eyes,
she clutched a corner of the drawers behind her for support.
Her head thrown back, and her dark hair hanging round it,
crowned a grandly tragic form. This was no poor pleader, and I
was unarmed for fight. She seized my throbbing arm and cried
in a whisper, low and hoarse, but strongly audible :

" For God's sake, stay here with me."

My lips moved vainly. I shook my head.

"For God in heaven's sake"—she repeated, swaying, and
turning her burning, reddened eyes on mine—" don't leave me
now."

I stood irresolute, half stunned. Stepping back, she stooped
and began piecing together the dismembered letter on the bed.
A mute protest arrested her from a cold sister's face. She
swept the action from her, crying, " No ! " and bending forward
suddenly, gripped me with fierce force.

"Here ! Here!" she prayed, dragging me passionately back
into the room.

The piteous need and wild entreaty—no, the vision of dire
anguish—was breaking my purpose of flight. A fragrance that
was to haunt me stole between us. The poor little violets put
in their plea. I moved to stay. Then a smile—the splendour
of it may never be reached again—touched her pale lips and broke
through them, transforming, with divine radiance, her young
and blurred and never-to-be-forgotten face. It wavered, or was
it the last uncertain flicker of the lamp that made me fancy it ?
The exquisite moment was barely over when darkness came.

Then

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