aping flames that threw changing lights on the dim stony wall of
rock; to old Nuflo and his two yellow dogs stretched out on the floor in
eternal, unawakening sleep.

This feeling took such firm possession of my mind that it kept me for
a time as motionless as the form I held in my arms. I was only released
from its power by noting still further changes in the face I watched,
a more distinct advance towards conscious life. The faint colour,
which had scarcely been more than a suspicion of colour, had deepened
perceptibly; the lids were lifted so as to show a gleam of the crystal
orbs beneath; the lips, too, were slightly parted.

And, at last, bending lower down to feel her breath, the beauty and
sweetness of those lips could no longer be resisted, and I touched them
with mine. Having once tasted their sweetness and fragrance, it was
impossible to keep from touching them again and again. She was not
conscious--how could she be and not shrink from my caress? Yet there
was a suspicion in my mind, and drawing back I gazed into her face once
more. A strange new radiance had overspread it. Or was this only an
illusive colour thrown on her skin by the red firelight? I shaded her
face with my open hand, and saw that her pallor had really gone, that
the rosy flame on her cheeks was part of her life. Her lustrous eyes,
half open, were gazing into mine. Oh, surely consciousness had returned
to her! Had she been sensible of those stolen kisses? Would she now
shrink from another caress? Trembling, I bent down and touched her lips
again, lightly, but lingeringly, and then again, and when I drew back
and looked at her face the rosy flame was brighter, and the eyes,
more open still, were looking into mine. And gazing with those open,
conscious eyes, it seemed to me that at last, at last, the shadow that
had rested between us had vanished, that we were united in perfect love
and confidence, and that speech was superfluous. And when I spoke, it
was not without doubt and hesitation: our bliss in those silent moments
had been so complete, what could speaking do but make it less!

"My love, my life, my sweet Rima, I know that you will understand me
now as you did not before, on that dark night--do you remember it,
Rima?--when I held you clasped to my breast in the wood. How it pierced
my heart with pain to speak plainly to you as I did on the mountain
tonight--to kill the hope that had sustained and brought you so far from
home! But now