She was as a child tired out with passionate weeping, who had
fallen to sleep as she had flung herself down. There was something even
pathetic about that proud head laid low upon her clasped arms.
Paul gazed and gazed. How he worshipped her! Wayward, tigerish, beautiful
Queen. But never selfish or small. And what great thing had she not done
for him--she who must have been able to choose from all the world a
lover--and she had chosen him. How poor and narrow were all the thoughts
of his former life, everywhere hedged in with foolish prejudice and
ignorant certainty. Now all the world should be his lesson-book, and some
day he would show her he was worthy of her splendid teaching and belief in
him, and her gift of an awakened soul. He bent still lower on his knees,
and kissed her feet with deepest reverence. She stirred not. She was so
very pale--fear came to him for an instant--and then he kissed her mouth.
Her wonderful eyes unclosed themselves with none of the bewildered stare
people often wake with when aroused suddenly. It seemed that even in her
sleep she had been conscious of her loved one's presence. Her lips parted
in a smile, while her heavy lashes again swept her cheeks.
"Sweetheart," she said, "you could awake me from the dead, I think.
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