Yet the vagabond life had had its charm, too. He had encountered
kindness often, generally from those in more evil plight than his own,
and there had been flowers and music and sunshine. True, he had felt
horribly ill and dejected on some days, and his wretched cough was an
annoyance to himself and to other people, but at times he felt ready
for anything, and more energetic than any three of those lazy Spaniards.
Love and Arithelli would be a sure antidote for any misery or disease.
For her he had created a House of Dreams, and now the dreams were on
the verge of becoming realities. Instead of the sand and stones of
that desert that men call Life, a rainbow-coloured future lay stretched
out before him. Sunshine and the summertime of love, all that he had
ever hoped for, were coming nearer. And joy was hovering near at hand,
till he could almost touch her flying robe. Soon he would hold her in
his arms, would possess her entirely.
How different Arithelli was from all other women! With her there was
never caprice or fickleness. Whatever she said was his law, whatever
she wished to do was the right thing.
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