He had brought with him some sheets of paper on which
were written the songs of little Wonder Silencieux had bidden him sing.
They were songs of grief so poignant and beautiful one grew happy in
listening to them, and Antony forgot all in the joy of having made
them. He read them to Beatrice in an ecstasy. Her face grew sadder and
sadder as he read. When he had finished she said:--
"Antony!--Silencieux has risen again."
"O Beatrice, Beatrice--I would do anything in the world for you--but I
cannot live without her."
CHAPTER XXII
THE STRANGENESS OF ANTONY
From this moment Silencieux took possession of Antony as she had never
taken it before. Never had he been so inaccessibly withdrawn into his
fatal dream. Beatrice forgot her own bitter sorrow in her fear for him,
so wrought was he with the fires that consumed him. Some days she almost
feared for his reason, and she longed to watch over him, but his old
irritation at her presence had returned.
As the summer days came on, she would see him disappear through the
green door of the wood at morning and return by it at evening; but all
the day each had been alone, Beatrice alone with a solitude in which was
now no longer any Wonder.
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