"No, Victor; here is the place for my arm now! You won't push it
away as you did in Paris, will you?"
The words hurt cruelly. Could I never obliterate that wretched
memory? It was vivid with her; it clung to me. It seemed a shadow
dogging my present pleasure. I stopped suddenly on the staircase and
took her wholly into my arms. All the supple form yielded at my
touch, till it leaned hard against my own; the face, pallid with
excitement, was raised to mine; the glitter of her eyes swam before
my vision as I caught it from beneath the half-drooped lids; the
lips, parted in a faint breath, then closed as mine joined them. As
they touched, no consciousness was left except that both our lives
seemed mingling, panting, fainting on our lips.
The pain that is pleasure, and the pleasure that is pain, thrilled
and pierced every nerve as I held her and felt those lips under
mine, her heart beat under my heart, her weak arms twisted round my
throat. When at last my lips set hers free, on fire with the passion
of my own, they moved in a half-delirious murmur,--
"Victor, you don't know how I love you!"
I have no distinct recollection of passing up the remaining stairs,
but we did reach the landing, and a second or two later were
standing in the drawing-room. I think she said it was pretty, and so
on, but I hardly heard, my head was reeling, and all my senses dull,
her figure leant a little against me, and the pressure of her arm
was upon mine.
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