"Paul," she said, "out of the whole world tonight there are only you and I
who matter, sweetheart. Is it not so? And is not that your English word
for lover and loved--'sweetheart'?"
And Paul, who had never even heard it used except in a kind of joke, now
knew it was what he had always admired. Yes, indeed, it was
"sweetheart"--and she was his!
"Remember, Paul," she whispered when, passion maddening him, he clasped
her violently in his arms--"remember--whatever happens--whatever
comes--for now, to-night, there is no other reason in all of this but
just--I love you--I love you, Paul!"
"My Queen, my Queen!" said Paul, his voice hoarse in his throat.
And the wind played in softest zephyrs, and the stars blazed in the sky,
mirroring themselves in the blue lake below.
Such was their wedding night.
Oh! glorious youth! and still more glorious love!
CHAPTER IX
Who can tell the joy of their awakening? The transcendent pleasure to
Paul to be allowed to play with his lady's hair, all unbound for him to do
with as he willed? The glory to realise she was his--his own--in his arms?
And then to be tenderly masterful and give himself lordly airs of
possession. She was almost silent, only the history of the whole world of
passion seemed written in her eyes--slumbrous, inscrutable, their heavy
lashes making shadows on her soft, smooth cheeks.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87