The Essential Elinor Glyn Collection. Glyn Elinor

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      "I know it is," he said; "but only in one way."

      She did not dare to ask in what way. She looked down and clasped her hands.

      "I once thought," she went on, hurriedly, "that I was perfectly happy the first time Josiah gave me two thousand francs, and told me to go out with my maid and buy just what I wished with it; and oh, we bought everything I could think Sarah and Clementine could want, numbers and numbers of things, and I remember I was fearfully excited when they were sent off to Dieppe. But I never knew if I chose well or if they liked them all quite, and now to do that does not give me nearly so much joy."

      Soon they drew up at the little caf and ordered tea, which he guessed probably would be very bad and they would not drink. But tea was English, and more novel than coffee for Theodora, and that she must have, she said.

      She was so gracious and sweet in the pouring of it out, when presently it came, and the elderly waiter seemed so sympathetic, and it was all gay and bright with the late afternoon sun streaming upon them.

      "The garon takes us for a honeymoon couple," Hector said; "he sees you have beautiful new clothes, and that we have not yet begun to yawn with each other."

      But Theodora had not this view of honeymoons. To her a honeymoon meant a nightmare, now happily a thing of the past, and almost forgotten.

      "Do not speak of it," she said, and she put out her hands as if to ward off an ugly sight, and Hector bent over the table and touched her fingers gently as he said:

      "Forgive me," and he raged within himself. How could he have been so gauche, so clumsy and unlike himself. He had punished them both, and destroyed an illusion. He meant that she should picture herself and him as married lovers, and she had only seen--Josiah Brown. They both fell into silence and so finished their repast.

      "I want you to walk now," Hector said, "through some delicious alles where I will show you Enceladus after he was struck by the thunders of Zeus. You will like him, I think, and there is fine greensward around him where we can sit awhile."

      "I was always sorry for him," said Theodora; "and oh, how I would like to go to Sicily and see tna and his fiery breath coming forth, and to know when the island quakes it is the poor giant turning his weary side!"

      To go to Sicily--and with her! The picture conjured up in Hector's imagination made him thrill again.

      Then he told her about it all, he charmed her fancy and excited her imagination, and by the time they came to their goal the feeling of jar had departed, and the dangerous sense of attraction--of nearness--had returned.

      It was nearly seven o'clock, and here among the trees all was in a soft gloom of evening light.

      "Is not this still and far away?" he said, as they sat on an old stone bench. "I often stay the whole morning here when I spend a week at Versailles."

      "How peaceful and beautiful! Oh, I would like a week here, too!" and Theodora sighed.

      "You must not sigh, beautiful princess," he implored, "on this our happy day."

      The slender lines of her figure seemed all drooping. She reminded him more than ever of the fragment of Psyche in the Naples Museum.

      "No, I must not sigh," she said. "But it seems suddenly to have grown sad--the air--what does it mean? Tell me, you who know so many things?" There was a pathos in her voice like a child in distress.

      It communicated itself to him, it touched some chords in his nature hitherto silent. His whole being rushed out to her in tenderness.

      "It seems to me it is because the time grows nearer when we must go back to the world. First to dinner with the others, and then--Paris. I would like to stay thus always--just alone with you."

      She did not refute this solution of her sadness. She knew it was true. And when he looked into her eyes, the blue was troubled with a mist as of coming tears.

      Then passion--more mighty than ever--seized him once more. He only felt a wild desire to comfort her, to kiss away the mist--to talk to her. Ah!

      "Theodora!" he said, and his voice vibrated with emotion, while he bent forward and seized both her hands, which he lifted to his face--she had not put on her gloves again after the tea--her cool, little, tender hands! He kissed and kissed their palms.

      "Darling--darling," he said, incoherently, "what have I done to make your dear eyes wet? Oh, I love you so, I love you so, and I have only made you sad."

      She gave a little, inarticulate cry. If a wounded dove could sob, it might have been the noise of a dove, so beseeching and so pathetic. "Oh, please--you must not," she said. "Oh, what have you done!--you have killed our happy day."

      And this was the beginning of his awakening. He sat for many moments with his head buried in his hands. What, indeed, had he done!--and they would be turned out of their garden of Eden--and all because he was a brute, who could not control his passion, but must let it run riot on the first opportunity.

      He suffered intensely. Suffered, perhaps, for the first time in his life.

      She had not said one word of anger--only that tone in her voice reached to his heart.

      He did not move and did not speak, and presently she touched his hands softly with her slender fingers, it seemed like the caress of an angel's wing.

      "Listen," she said, so gently. "Oh, you must not grieve--but it was too good to be true, our day. I ought to have known to where we were drifting, I am wicked to have let you say all you have said to-day, but oh, I was asleep, I think, and I only knew that I was happy. But now you have shown me--and oh, the dream is broken up. Come, let us go back to the world."

      Then he raised his eyes to her face, and they were haggard and miserable.

      How her simple speech, blaming herself who was all innocent, touched his heart and filled him with shame at his unworthiness.

      "Oh, forgive me!" he pleaded. "Oh, please forgive me! I am mad, I think, I love you so--and I had to tell you--and yes, I will say it all now, and then you can punish me. From the first moment I looked into your angel eyes it has been growing, you are so true and so sweet, and so miles beyond all other women in the world. Each minute I have loved you more--and all the time I thought to win you. Yes, you may well turn away, and shrink from me now that you know the brute I am. I thought I would make you love me, and you would forgive me then. But I have suddenly seen your soul, my darling, and I am ashamed, and I can only ask you to forgive me and let me worship you and be your slave--I will not ask for any return--only to worship you and be your slave--that I may show you I am not all brute and may earn your pardon."

      And then Theodora's blindness fell from her and she knew that she loved him--she had faced the fact at last. And all over her being there thrilled a mad, wild joy. It surged up and crushed out fear and pain--for just one moment--and then she too, in her turn, covered her face with her hands.

      "Oh, hush! hush!" she said. "What have you done--what have we both done!"

      It was characteristic of her that СКАЧАТЬ