Half frantic with grief and half mad with the excitement of the moment we
still had sense enough to shoulder our tools and drive our mules back
across the moraine.
Only the mule-hammock in which reposed Professor Bottomly remained on the
marsh. For one horrid instant temptation assailed me to press the button
before James Skaw could lead the hammock-mules up to the moraine. It was
my closest approach to crime.
With a shudder I viewed the approach of the mules. James Skaw led them by
the head; the hammock on its bar and swivels swung gently between them;
Professor Bottomly slept, lulled, no doubt, to deeper slumber by the
gently swaying hammock.
When the hammock came up, one by one we gazed upon its unconscious
occupant.
And, even amid dark and revengeful thoughts, amid a mental chaos of grief
and fury and frantic self-reproach, I had to admit to myself that Jane
Bottomly was a fine figure of a woman, and good-looking, too, and that
her hair was all her own and almost magnificent at that.
With a modiste to advise her, a maid to dress her, I myself might
have--but let that pass. Only as I gazed upon her fresh complexion and
the softly parted red lips of Professor Bottomly, and as I noted the
beautiful white throat and prettily shaped hands, a newer, bitterer, and
more overwhelming despair seized me; and I realized now that perhaps I
had thrown away more than fame, honours, applause; I had perhaps thrown
away love!
At that moment Professor Bottomly awoke.
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