DOI Artikel:
Watson, H. B. Marriott: A resurrection
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27811#0307
A Resurrection
By H. B. Marriott Watson
I
book slid gently from Gregory's Angers, and closed with a
j: rustle upon the table. He was not conscious of the move-
ment, for in a moment he was rapt among high and tender
memories. The verses sang in the current of his blood, and
pulsed to the beating of his arteries. They resounded from distant
years with the full ryhthm of an immediate echo. These instant
reverberations in a heart long silent startled him with their unex-
pectedness. It was so long since he had provoked that pale
wraith and image of his old passion. And now of a sudden his
Abres were quick with a soft and melancholy yearning. With
that passage in the poem, long since forgotten, the resurrection of
this untimely ghost was charged with delicate and private mean-
ing. His eyes fell again upon the closed volume, and he repeated
the verses in a soothing whisper to himself.
He could see Dorothea's lips move to the phrases, her hand Autter
unawares about her heart, according to a habit which had always
aAected him. He saw her bend and lean to touch him with her
pretty air of assurance ; soft Angers rested upon his arm. He
sighed, and dropping slowly in his chair smiled very quietly at his
own fancies.
He
By H. B. Marriott Watson
I
book slid gently from Gregory's Angers, and closed with a
j: rustle upon the table. He was not conscious of the move-
ment, for in a moment he was rapt among high and tender
memories. The verses sang in the current of his blood, and
pulsed to the beating of his arteries. They resounded from distant
years with the full ryhthm of an immediate echo. These instant
reverberations in a heart long silent startled him with their unex-
pectedness. It was so long since he had provoked that pale
wraith and image of his old passion. And now of a sudden his
Abres were quick with a soft and melancholy yearning. With
that passage in the poem, long since forgotten, the resurrection of
this untimely ghost was charged with delicate and private mean-
ing. His eyes fell again upon the closed volume, and he repeated
the verses in a soothing whisper to himself.
He could see Dorothea's lips move to the phrases, her hand Autter
unawares about her heart, according to a habit which had always
aAected him. He saw her bend and lean to touch him with her
pretty air of assurance ; soft Angers rested upon his arm. He
sighed, and dropping slowly in his chair smiled very quietly at his
own fancies.
He