in sorrow for her to consider his own position over-much. [172] [172] He was indirectly the cause of her grief, and his whole being was absorbed in the longing to comfort her. She looked so white and wan as the hours passed by, that he grew alarmed about her. He had done before all he could to make her warm and comfortable, and had then withdrawn a little, fancying his close proximity distasteful to her, but she looked so ill at last that he could keep away no longer, and came over to her, taking her hand in his. “Monica,” he said gently. The long lashes stirred a little and slowly lifted themselves. The dark eyes were dim and full of trouble. She looked at him wonderingly for a moment, almost as if she did not know him, and then she closed her eyes with a little shuddering sigh. [173] [173] He was alarmed, and not without cause, for the strain of the past days was showing itself now, and want of rest and sleep had worn down her strength to the lowest ebb. She was so faint and weary that all power of resistance had left her. She let her husband do what he would, submitted passively to be tended like a child, and heaved a sigh that sounded almost like one of relief as he drew her towards him, so that her weary head could rest upon his broad shoulder. There was something restful and supporting, of which she was dumbly conscious in the deep love and protecting gentleness of this strong man. She only spoke once to him, and that was as they neared their destination, and the lights of the great city began to flash upon her bewildered gaze. Then she sat [174]up, though with an effort, and looking at her husband, said gently: [174] “You have been very good to me, Randolph.” His heart bounded at the words, but he only asked. “Are you better, Monica?” She pressed her hand to her brow.
Prev.
Back
Top