He remembered how, in their early
married days, he had felt the sanctity of that Diana-like revelation,
and the still nymph-like austerity which clung to this strange,
childless woman. He even fancied that he breathed again the subtle
characteristic perfume of the laces, embroideries, and delicate
enwrappings in her chamber at Robles. Perhaps it was the intensity of
his gaze--perhaps it was the magnetism of his presence--but her lips
parted with a half sigh, half moan. Her head, although her eyes were
still closed, turned on the pillow instinctively towards him. He rose
from his knees. Her eyes opened slowly. As the first glare of wonderment
cleared from them, they met him--in the old antagonism of spirit. Yet
her first gesture was a pathetic feminine movement with both hands to
arrange her straggling hair. It brought her white fingers, cleaned
of their disguising stains, as a sudden revelation to her of what had
happened; she instantly slipped them back under the coverlet again.
Brant did not speak, but with folded arms stood gazing upon her. And it
was her voice that first broke the silence.
"You have recognized me? Well, I suppose you know all," she said, with a
weak half-defiance.
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