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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

A moment after, but
now both standing, we had again approached the window on either
side.
'Flora,' I said, 'this is but a poor offer I can make you.'
She took my hand in hers and clasped it to her bosom.
'Rich enough for a queen!' she said, with a lift in her breathing
that was more eloquent than words. 'Anne, my brave Anne! I would
be glad to be your maidservant; I could envy that boy Rowley. But,
no!' she broke off, 'I envy no one--I need not--I am yours.'
'Mine,' said I, 'for ever! By this and this, mine!'
'All of me,' she repeated. 'Altogether and forever!'
And if the god were envious, he must have seen with mortification
how little he could do to mar the happiness of mortals. I stood in
a mere waterspout; she herself was wet, not from my embrace only,
but from the splashing of the storm. The candles had guttered out;
we were in darkness. I could scarce see anything but the shining
of her eyes in the dark room. To her I must have appeared as a
silhouette, haloed by rain and the spouting of the ancient Gothic
gutter above my head.
Presently we became more calm and confidential; and when that
squall, which proved to be the last of the storm, had blown by,
fell into a talk of ways and means. It seemed she knew Mr. Robbie,
to whom I had been so slenderly accredited by Romaine--was even
invited to his house for the evening of Monday, and gave me a
sketch of the old gentleman's character which implied a great deal
of penetration in herself, and proved of great use to me in the
immediate sequel.


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