I woke,
but my waking was no relief.
CHAPTER XI.
THE MOLE BURROWS.
I slept again after my dream, and do not know whether he came into my
room as he generally did when he had not said good-night to me. Of course
I woke unhappy, and the morning-world had lost something of its natural
glow, its lovely freshness: it was not this time a thing new-born of the
creating word. I dawdled with my dressing. The face kept coming, and
brought me no peace, yet brought me something for which it seemed worth
while even to lose my peace. But I did not know then, and do not yet know
what the loss of peace actually means. I only know that it must be
something far more terrible than anything I have ever known. I remained
so far true to my uncle, however, that not even for what the face seemed
to promise me, would I have consented to cause him trouble. For what I
saw in the face, I would do anything, I thought, except that.
I went to him at the usual hour, determined that nothing should distract
me from my work--that he should perceive no difference in me. I was not
at the moment awake to the fact that here again were love and deception
hand in hand. But another love than mine was there: my uncle loved me
immeasurably more than I yet loved that heavenly vision. True love is
keen-sighted as the eagle, and my uncle's love was love true, therefore
he saw what I sought to hide.
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