Dimly yet keenly, vaguely yet convincingly, I felt she had come as
an adorable antagonist to my resolutions. Traditionally speaking,
such a knowledge should have made me instantly on my guard.
I ought certainly to have summoned my control, my judgment, and so
on, to say nothing of an icy reserve. But I did not. My whole heart
seemed to rush out to her, my whole being to strain towards her. I
longed to take her entirely in my arms, to kiss her on the lips and
throat, and say,--
"Ask whatever you will and it shall be granted."
"The manuscript is finished, isn't it?" she repeated.
Oh, bitter, bitter, and cruel fate that had dragged the fruits of my
labour, and with them everything, out of my hand!
"It was finished, Lucia, a few days ago," I said, speaking calmly
with a great effort; "but an accident happened and it was
destroyed."
I felt myself growing paler and paler as I spoke, meeting her
lovely, eager eyes fixed on mine.
"Destroyed?" she echoed, growing white to the lips. "Oh, Victor!
How?"
"I would rather not say, Lucia, exactly how it occurred, but it had
been accepted by a publisher here, and I was going to make one or
two trifling alterations in it to please him, and so I had it back.
Well, then, as I say, something happened, and the thing was
destroyed."
There was a dead silence.
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