She did not speak, she was looking down and her eyelashes made a shadow on her cheeks. Her mouth was sad.
Suddenly something pathetic about her touched me. She is such a gallant little fighter. She has had such an ugly cruel life, and Oh! God she is growing to love me, and soon shall I be able to tell her that I worship the ground she walks on, and appreciate her proud spirit and great self-respect? But I cannot chance anything. I must go on and follow what I know to be sound psychological reasoning.
I felt my will weakening then, she looked so perfectly exquisite there in the corner of the sofa. We were alone.—It was nearly ten o'clock at night, the flowers were scenting the air, the lights were soft, the dinner had been perfection. After all I am a man, and she legally belongs to me. I felt the blood rushing wildly in my veins. I had to clench my hands and shut my eye.
"I expect you are tired now," I said a little breathlessly. "So I will say good-night—Milady, and hope that you will sleep well the first night in your new home."
I got up and she came forward quickly to hand me my crutch.
"Good-night," she whispered quite low, but she never looked at me, then she turned and went slowly from the room, never glancing back. And when she had gone instead of going to bed I once more sank into my chair. I felt queerly faint, my nerves are not sound yet I expect.
Well, what a strange wedding night!
Burton's face was a mask when he came to undress me. Among the many strange scenes he has witnessed and assisted at, after forty years spent in ministering to the caprices of the aristocracy, I believe he thinks this is the strangest!
When I was in bed and he was about to go, I suddenly went into a peal of bitter laughter. He stopped near the door.
"Beg pardon, Sir Nicholas?" he said as though I had called to him.