“His fingers sank into my wrists, and his fearful eyes burned into my brain.
“‘No! I am sure she has not!’
“‘Thanks, thanks, thanks!’ he cried; and lifting both my hands to his lips, he covered them with fervid kisses. I was not surprised; I was past that point. Had he thrown his arms around me, I honestly believe I should have been neither astonished nor angry.”
“I wish he had,” said Charley, musing. “Poor boy, poor boy!—well, well!” and, sighing, he fixed his eyes upon the fire.
Alice, with a look of tender sympathy, took her husband’s hand in hers.
| [1] | How strange, even pathetic, is the sound of these military metaphors from a woman’s lips.—Ed. |
CHAPTER L.
The return of our Jason and Medea from the Argo was very different from their departure for that fateful craft, if their going had been operatic, their coming was elegiac. A salvo of salutations was preparing as they approached, and the Gallery watched the couple as they drew near, momentarily expecting some outburst of jollity on their part; but expectancy slowly faded as their nearer and nearer approach brought into ever clearer view the faces of the Argonaut and the Enchantress.
I have called the Don a man of surprises. What had he been saying to Alice? thought every one as she tripped up the piazza steps with an effort to appear jaunty and careless; but her cheeks showed splotches of burning red, while his features were pale and set. What had happened?