Aristocracy (Social class) -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Science fiction, American
Through the massive oaken door, clamped with polished steel bands, entered
now two pallid and haggard persons--a man and a woman. The light striking
on their eyes made them blink and look aside. The man led the woman to the
fire, and seated her upon a low chair; and taking a blue satin coverlid
from the bed in the recess, he folded it tenderly round her shoulders. She
scarcely seemed to notice where she was, or what was being done; she sat
with her eyes and face fixed, shivering now and then, and with her mind
apparently preoccupied with some ugly recollection. The man then went to
the table and poured out a glass of wine, and held it to the woman's lips,
and after a little resistance she drank some of it.
"You are as safe here," said he, "as if you were in an island of the South
Sea. I will see that you want for nothing while you have to remain here."
"What is the use?" she asked, with a kind of apathetic peevishness.
"Before long we shall be able to go away," he continued. "My darling, don't
be disheartened. All our happiness is to come."
"I can never forget it," she said, with a shiver. "What is the use? I can
never get away from him now. Do you think the water is frozen yet?"
"You must not think of that at all. When you are warm, and have drunk some
wine, you will not feel this nervousness. Nothing has been done that is
worth regretting, or that could have been helped. Kate, I love you more
than ever."
"What is the use?" she repeated, in a dull tone. "It was not worth while."
There was a pause.
"I must leave you for a few minutes," he said gently. "It is necessary that
I should show myself to Lady Malmaison and to the servants. No one knows
that I have left the house. By the time I come back you will have got
warm, and we will sup together. Don't be downhearted, my darling."
He bent forward to kiss her. With a sudden gesture of aversion she pushed
him back. "There is blood upon your forehead!" she said, in a sharp
whisper.
"Only a scratch--I had forgotten it," he answered, trying to smile. "Well,
then, in half an hour, at the utmost, we will meet again."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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