Still she
would not change, and still, through the years, she loved more and more
truly, and passionately, and unchangingly.
The feeling that she was in the presence of a passion as great, as
unhappy, and as masterful as her own, unloosed her tongue. Such things
happen in this strange world. Men and women of deep and strong feedings,
outwardly cold, reserved, taciturn and proud, have been known, once in
their lives, to pour out the secrets of their hearts to a stranger or a
mere acquaintance, as they could never have done to a friend.
Beatrice seemed scarcely conscious of what she was saying, or of
Unorna's presence. The words, long kept back and sternly restrained,
fell with a strange strength from her lips, and there was not one of
them from first to last that did not sheathe itself like a sharp knife
in Unorna's heart. The enormous jealousy of Beatrice which had been
growing within her beside her love during the last month was reaching
the climax of its overwhelming magnitude. She hardly knew when Beatrice
ceased speaking, for the words were still all ringing in her ears, and
clashing madly in her own breast, and prompting her fierce nature to do
some violent deed. But Beatrice looked for no sympathy and did not see
Unorna's face. She had forgotten Unorna herself at the last, as she sat
staring at the opposite wall.
Then she rose quickly, and taking something from the jewel-box, thrust
it into Unorna's hands.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360