"Dole," he exclaimed, "it's a gold mine!"
"Is--is _she_ here?" I ventured to demand at last.
"_Is_ she? Say! Come and have a look."
I was between laughing and wincing at that "have a look."
Going up the garden, Signet let me know that the woman was in love with
him. I might believe it or not. She would do anything for him.
"_Anything!_" he exclaimed, standing squarely still in the path. And in
his eyes I was somehow relieved to find a trace of wonder.
Obstacles! All his life had been a turning back from small,
insurmountable obstacles. Of a sudden he beheld really vast obstacles
tumbling down, verily at a touch. Here was just one more of them. By a
lucky chance this "Queen Daughter" did not know by whose hand she had
been made thrice a widow; it was the simplest thing to suppose it the
trader, the same big, blond, European man who had presently removed her
"for safety" to the summer house behind the Residence.--And from the
trader, by a gesture of melodramatic violence, the other and slighter
man had set her free.--Perhaps even that would not have intrigued her
essentially barbaric interest as much as it did had it not been for his
amazing attitude of, well, let's say, "refrainment." His almost absurdly
fastidious concern for what the West would call "the sanctity of her
person.
Pages:
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543