" He thought of the Blackwater stories he had
heard from Lord Grosville. "
Mad, my dear fellow, mad!"--the old man's
frequent comment ran through his memory. Was there, indeed, some unsound
spot in Kitty?
He sat dumb and paralyzed for a moment; then, recovering himself, he
said, as he recaptured the cold little hands:
"'More
light,' Kitty, was what Goethe said, in dying. A better prayer,
don't you think?"
There was a strong, even a stern insistence in his manner which quieted
Kitty. Her face as it came back to full consciousness was exquisitely
sweet and mournful.
"That's the prayer of the
calm," she said, in a whisper, "and my
nature is hunger and storm. And Geoffrey Cliffe is the same. That's why
I couldn't help being--"
She sprang up.
"William, don't let's talk nonsense. I can't ever see that man again.
How's it to be done?"
She moved up and down--all practical energy and impatience--her mood
wholly altered. His own adapted itself to hers.
"For the present, fear nothing," he said, dryly. "For his own sake
Cliffe will hold his tongue and leave London. And as to the future--I
can get some message conveyed to him--by a man he won't disregard.
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