I
had been talking until then to hold her; but I was now not sorry
she should go: an impression is a thing so delicate to produce and
so easy to overthrow! Presently she seemed to make an effort.
'I will take this toy,' she said, laid a five-and-sixpenny piece in
my hand, and was gone ere I could thank her.
I retired to a place apart near the ramparts and behind a gun. The
beauty, the expression of her eyes, the tear that had trembled
there, the compassion in her voice, and a kind of wild elegance
that consecrated the freedom of her movements, all combined to
enslave my imagination and inflame my heart. What had she said?
Nothing to signify; but her eyes had met mine, and the fire they
had kindled burned inextinguishably in my veins. I loved her; and
I did not fear to hope. Twice I had spoken with her; and in both
interviews I had been well inspired, I had engaged her sympathies,
I had found words that she must remember, that would ring in her
ears at night upon her bed. What mattered if I were half shaved
and my clothes a caricature? I was still a man, and I had drawn my
image on her memory. I was still a man, and, as I trembled to
realise, she was still a woman. Many waters cannot quench love;
and love, which is the law of the world, was on my side. I closed
my eyes, and she sprang up on the background of the darkness, more
beautiful than in life.
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