“Oh, so happy,” she answered dreamily.
“Do you love?”
“Ah yes,” with a sigh, “I love.”
He passed his hand over her face and her eyes closed. “Do you love me, Victoria darling?”
“Yes, I love you.”
“Then kiss me. Kiss my hands, my hair, my face!”
Victoria complied, and different to that other time when he had forced her, there was now a passionate abandonment in her caresses, which caused the blood to course through his veins like fire, and he caught her to his breast, pressing his face to the one not whiter than his own.
“God in heaven, how I love her!” he cried. A moment later he was again behind the bush, and Victoria slowly opened her eyes, yawned, and looked about her, bewildered. “Strange,” she said dreamily, “very strange. How came I here? I started for the lodge. Oh, I know. I felt so sort of weak and trembling, that I decided to rest for a moment. I must have dropped asleep.” She arose and passed out.
As soon as she had disappeared, Andrew entered the summer-house, flung himself down on the seat so lately occupied by Victoria, and remained buried in thought for some time. He dared not try his power too often, and only then when he was safe from detection. He knew that if Victoria’s suspicions should be again aroused, she would flee from the house, and he would lose her forever; so when in her presence he was most circumspect, and veiled his eyes when he knew they betrayed too dangerous a fire.
Meanwhile Roger’s eyes had ceased to pain him, and he chafed at having to still wear the bandage. One day his ill-humor and impatience got the upper hand of him, and he took Victoria by surprise by suddenly tearing the bandage from his face. She had been reading Ivanhoe to him. They were out in their favorite stone seat by the lake. A quick gesture caused her to glance up, and she uttered a faint cry, for she saw him for the first time without the disfiguring cloth.