The next midnight he feigned
deep sleep, and shortly after perceived her stealthily rise and let
herself out of the room in the dark. He slipped on some clothing
and followed. At the farther end of the corridor, where the clash
of flint and steel would be out of the hearing of one in the bed-
chamber, she struck a light. He stepped aside into an empty room
till she had lit a taper and had passed on to her boudoir. In a
minute or two he followed. Arrived at the door of the boudoir, he
beheld the door of the private recess open, and Barbara within it,
standing with her arms clasped tightly round the neck of her Edmond,
and her mouth on his. The shawl which she had thrown round her
nightclothes had slipped from her shoulders, and her long white robe
and pale face lent her the blanched appearance of a second statue
embracing the first. Between her kisses, she apostrophized it in a
low murmur of infantine tenderness:
'My only love--how could I be so cruel to you, my perfect one--so
good and true--I am ever faithful to you, despite my seeming
infidelity! I always think of you--dream of you--during the long
hours of the day, and in the night-watches! O Edmond, I am always
yours!' Such words as these, intermingled with sobs, and streaming
tears, and dishevelled hair, testified to an intensity of feeling in
his wife which Lord Uplandtowers had not dreamed of her possessing.
'Ha, ha!' says he to himself.
Pages:
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118