She might come just once more, he said, and his heart
swelled within his throat as he thought of being alone with her,
no jealous Richard hovering near, like a dark, brooding cloud, his
blind eyes shielding her from harm even more than they could have
done had they been imbued with sight. The next time she came, the
restraint would be removed. She would be alone, and the hot blood
poured swiftly through his veins as he thought how for one brief
moment he would be happy. He WOULD wind his arm around that
girlish waist, where no other manly arm save that of Richard had
ever been; he WOULD hug her to his bosom, where no other head than
hers could ever lie; he would imprint one burning kiss upon her
lips; would tell her how dear she was to him; and then--his brain
reeled and grew dizzy as he thought that THEN he must bid her
leave him forever, for an interview like that must not he
repeated. But for once, just once, he would taste of the forbidden
fruit, and so the good angel Arthur St. Claire wept over the
wayward man and then flew sadly away, leaving him to revel in
anticipations of what the next Friday would bring him.
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