Oliver!--No hope for him?--at thirty-six! His career broken--his
ambition defeated. Nothing before him but the decline of power and joy;
nights of barren endurance, separating days empty and tortured; all
natural pleasures deadened and destroyed; the dying down of all the
hopes and energies that make a man.
She threw herself down beside the open window, burying her face on her
knees. Would they never let her go to him?--never let her say to him:
"Oliver, take me!--you did love me once--what matters what came between
us? That was in another world. Take my life--crush out of it any drop of
comfort or of ease it can give you! Cruel, cruel--to refuse! It is mine
to give and yours to spend!"
Juliet Sparling's daughter. There was the great consecrating,
liberating fact! What claim had she to the ordinary human joys? What
could the ordinary standards and expectations of life demand from her?
Nothing!--nothing that could stem this rush of the heart to the
beloved--the forsaken and suffering and overshadowed beloved. Her
future?--she held it dross--apart from Oliver. Dear Sir James!--but he
must learn to bear it--to admit that she stood alone, and must judge for
herself.
Pages:
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653