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Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion), 1854-1909

"The Witch of Prague"


To-day they sat together, as they had so often sat, among the flowers
and the trees in the vast conservatory, she in her tall, carved chair
and he upon a lower seat before her. They had been silent for some
minutes. It was not yet noon, but it might have been early morning in a
southern island, so soft was the light, so freshly scented the air, so
peaceful the tinkle of the tiny fountain. Unorna's expression was sad,
as she gazed in silence at the man she loved. There was something gone
from his face, she thought, since she had first seen him, and it was to
bring that something back that she would give her life and her soul if
she could.
Suddenly her lips moved and a sad melody trembled in the air. Unorna
sang, almost as though singing to herself. The Wanderer's deep eyes met
hers and he listened.
"When in life's heaviest hour
Grief crowds upon the heart
One wondrous prayer
My memory repeats.
"The harmony of the living words
Is full of strength to heal,
There breathes in them a holy charm
Past understanding.
"Then, as a burden from my soul,
Doubt rolls away,
And I believe--believe in tears,
And all is light--so light!"
She ceased, and his eyes were still upon her, calm, thoughtful,
dispassionate. The colour began to rise in her cheek. She looked down
and tapped upon the carved arm of the chair with an impatient gesture
familiar to her.


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