During a lifetime he may conceal it through
stress of expediency and honour, but it shall bubble from his dying
lips, though it disrupt a neighbourhood. It is known, however, that
most men do not wait so long to disclose their passion. In the case
of Lorison, his particular ethics positively forbade him to declare
his sentiments, but he must needs dally with the subject, and woo by
innuendo at least.
On this night, after the usual meal at the Carabine d'Or, he strolled
with his companion down the dim old street toward the river.
The Rue Chartres perishes in the old Place d'Armes. The ancient
Cabildo, where Spanish justice fell like hail, faces it, and the
Cathedral, another provincial ghost, overlooks it. Its centre is a
little, iron-railed park of flowers and immaculate gravelled walks,
where citizens take the air of evenings. Pedestalled high above it,
the general sits his cavorting steed, with his face turned stonily
down the river toward English Turn, whence come no more Britons to
bombard his cotton bales.
Often the two sat in this square, but to-night Lorison guided her past
the stone-stepped gate, and still riverward. As they walked, he smiled
to himself to think that all he knew of her--except that be loved
her--was her name, Norah Greenway, and that she lived with her
brother.
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