Miranda of the Balcony: A StoryMason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
General
Miranda of the Balcony: A Story
Mason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
Fiction
"The face which my mirror showed to me," he went on, "was your face,
as I said; but in expression it was not your face as I see it
to-night. It was very troubled, it was very pale; the eyes haunted me
because of the pain in them, and because of--something else beside. It
was a tortured face I saw, and the eyes seemed to ask--but to ask
proudly--for help. Is it plain, the explanation which occurred to me?"
His voice sank; he went on, slowly choosing every word with care, and
speaking it with hesitation. "I imagined that out of all the millions
of women in the world, here was one who needed help--my help, who was
allowed to appeal to me for it, without, if you understand, making any
appeal at all, and the explanation was not ... unpleasant ... to a man
who lives much alone. In fact it has been so pleasant, and has become
so familiar during this last week, that when I saw you to-night
without a care, just as I saw you that night at Monte Carlo," and
indeed it seemed to Charnock that the black dress she wore alone
marked the passage of those six years,--"I am ashamed to say that I
was disappointed."
"Yes," said Miranda. "I noticed the disappointment, but there's a
simpler explanation of the troubled face than yours. You had been to
_Macbeth_ that evening; Lady Macbeth played a part in your dreams.
What if Lady Macbeth lent her pallor and her distress to the face
which you saw in your mirror?"
Charnock swung abruptly round towards her. It was not the explanation
which surprised him, but the altered voice she used. And if her voice
surprised him, he was shocked and startled by her looks. She was still
leaning back in the shadow of the alcove, and her head rested against
the dark wood-panels. She did not move when he looked towards her.
"My God," he said in a hushed and trembling whisper, and she gave no
sign that she heard. She might have fainted, but that her eyes
glittered out of the shadow straight and steadily into his. She might
be dead from the whiteness of her face against the panels, but that
her bosom rose and fell.
"What can I do?" he exclaimed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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