He shut his heart against the influence
of the happy earth; he felt like a guest bidden by fate, who knew not
whether the feast were to be for bridal or funeral. That he was not a
strong man was shown in this--that having hoped and feared, dreamed and
suffered, struggling to see a plain path where no path was, for half the
night, he now felt that his power of thought and feeling had burned out,
that he could only act his part, without caring much what its results
might be.
It was eight o'clock. He had groomed his horse, and tidied his house,
and bathed, and breakfasted. He did not think it seemly to intrude upon
the lady before this hour, and now he ascended her steps and knocked at
her door. The dogs thumped their tails on the wooden veranda; it was
only of late they had learned this welcome for him. Would they give it
now, he wondered, if they could see his heart? As he stood there waiting
for a minute, he felt that it would be good, if possible, to have laid
his dilemma fairly before the canine sense and heart, and to have let
the dogs rise and tear him or let him pass, as they judged best. It was
a foolish fancy.
It was O'Shea's wife who opened the door; her face was disfigured by
crying.
"You have told her?" demanded Caius, with relief.
The woman shook her head.
"It was the fine morning that tempted her out, sir," she said.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249