He threw caution to the winds and
advanced on her. He found her kneeling above a pool of water fed by
the soft sliding little stream from the spring. With one hand she held
a burning branch by way of a torch, and with the other she patted her
hair into shape and finally thrust the comb into the glittering,
heavy coils.
She started, as if she felt his presence.
"P-P-Pierre!"
"Yes?"
"Look!"
She stood with the torch high overhead, and he saw a beauty so
glorious that he closed his eyes involuntarily and still he saw the
vision in the dull-green gown, with the scarf of old gold about her
dazzling white shoulders. And there were two lights, the barbaric red
of the jewels in her hair, and the black shimmer of her eyes. He drew
back a step more. It was a picture to be looked at from a distance.
She ran to him with a cry of dismay: "Pierre, what's wrong with me?"
His arms went round her of their own accord. It was the only place
they could go. And all this beauty was held in the circle of his will.
"It isn't that, but you're so wonderful, Jack, so glorious, that I
hardly know you.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172