All this time he had retained her hand, and now, looking her in the
eyes, he drew it with painful effort toward his lips. Cornelia's heart
beat so she could scarcely stand, and her mind was in a confusion, but
she did not withdraw her hand. Perhaps because he was so pale and
helpless; perhaps the old argument--"it's his way--he don't know it
isn't customary;" perhaps--for this also must have a place--perhaps from
a fear lest he should make no attempt to regain it. She felt his bearded
lips press against it. At the touch, a sudden weakness, a self-pitying
sensation, came over her, and the tears started to her eyes.
"No one ever did that before to me," she said, almost plaintively, for
he had spoken no justifying words, and she was balancing between a
remorseful timidity and a timid exultation.
"It's the first kiss I ever gave," said he, and his own voice vibrated.
"Are you angry? it shall be the last if you are."
"Oh, I'm not angry," faltered poor Cornelia; and then she felt, or
seemed to feel, a force drawing her down--scarcely perceptible, yet
strong as death. She bent her lovely glowing face, with its tearful eyes
and fragrant breath, close down to Bressant's.
At that very moment, or even an incalculable instant before, the
professor's voice was heard calling loudly from without:
"Come--come! be quick! you'll be too late!"
She rose and fled from the room; but it was too late, indeed.
Pages:
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167