The glory of a Sicilian sunset bathed the face and figure that stood a moment under the lemon-boughs, watching the retreating form which soon disappeared behind clustering pomegranate, olive, and palm; and a tender compassion looked out of the large hazel eyes, and sat on the sad lips that murmured,—
“God help you, Merton Minge, to strangle the viper that coils in your heart, and gnaws its core. My own is a serpent’s lair, and I pity the pangs that rend yours also. But after a little while, your viper will find a file,—mine, alas! not until death arrests the slow torture. To-morrow afternoon I shall be—where? Only God knows.”
She shivered slightly, and raised her beautiful eyes towards the west, where golden gleams and violet shadows were battling for possession of a reef of cloud islets, which dotted the azure upper sea of air, and were reflected in the watery one beneath.
“Courage! courage!
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‘Those who have nothing left to hope, Have nothing left to dread.’” |
CHAPTER XXIX.
“Muriel, where can I find Miss Dexter?”
“She went out on the lawn an hour ago, to regale herself with what she calls, ‘atmospheric hippocrene,’ and I have not heard her come in, though she may have gone to her 394 room. Pray tell me, doctor, why you wish to see my governess?—to inquire concerning my numerous peccadilloes?”