He was aware that he was becoming fascinated by her eyes,
and he felt that with every moment it was growing harder for him to
close his own, or to look away from her, and then, an instant later, he
knew that it would be impossible. Yet he made no effort. He was passive,
indifferent, will-less, and her gaze charmed him more and more. He was
already in a dream, and he fancied that the beautiful figure shone with
a soft, rosy light of its own in the midst of the gloomy waste. Looking
into her sunlike eyes, he saw there twin images of himself, that drew
him softly and surely into themselves until he was absorbed by them
and felt that he was no longer a reality but a reflection. Then a deep
unconsciousness stole over all his senses and he slept, or passed into
that state which seems to lie between sleep and trance.
Unorna needed not to question him this time, for she saw that he was
completely under her influence. Yet she hesitated at the supreme moment,
and then, though to all real intents she was quite alone, a burning
flush of shame rose to her face, and her heart sank within her. She felt
that she could not do it.
She dropped his hands. They fell to his sides as though they had been of
lead. Then she turned from him and pressed her aching forehead against
a tall weather-worn stone that rose higher than her own height from the
midst of the hillock.
Her woman's nature rebelled against the trick.
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