"I must not touch the Princess of my fairy
garden. Only let us go back now, please. I cannot stay here any
longer."
She obeyed at once. There was a queer, pathetic little droop at the
corners of her lips, and she avoided his eyes.
"Good-bye!" he said.
His tone was dull and spiritless. Something, for the moment, seemed to
have passed from him. He seemed, indeed, to lack both inspiration and
courage. Her fingers clung slightly to his. She was praying, even,
that he might laugh to scorn her unspoken appeal. He moved a yard away
and stood looking at her. Her heart began to beat wildly. Surely her
prayer would be granted! The light of adoration was coming back to his
eyes.
"I cannot see the truth!" he cried hoarsely. "You belong to me--I feel
that you belong to me! You are part of the great life. I have found
you--you are mine! And yet . . . I feel I mustn't touch you. I
don't understand. Perhaps I shall come back."
He turned and hurried off. She watched him until he was a speck upon
the road; watched him, even then, from among the shadows of the trees.
There was a lump in her throat and a misty light in her eyes. She had
forgotten everything that had seemed absurd to her in this strange
little romance.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134