But her face was sad, and there was not a touch of the
piquancy which it had worn the night before in the throne-room, nor
of its delicious daring as she had sped past him in the big Yaque
touring car. Save for her, the room was deserted; it was as if the
prince had come to the castle and found the Sleeping Princess the
only one awake.
If in that supreme moment St. George had leaped forward and taken
her in his arms no one--no one, that is, in the fairy-tale of what
was happening--would greatly have censured him. But he stood without
for a moment, hardly daring to believe his happiness, hardly knowing
that her name was on his lips.
He had spoken, however, and she turned quickly, her look uncertainly
seeking the doorway, and she saw him. For a moment she stood still,
her eyes upon his face; then with a little incredulous cry that
thrilled him with a sudden joyous hope that was like belief, she
came swiftly toward him.
St. George loved to remember that she did that. There was no waiting
for assurance and no fear; only the impulse, gloriously obeyed, to
go toward him.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313