Amid the sunshine and the
shadow he could picture afresh that happy, piquant face, the dark coils
of hair, those tantalizing eyes. He swung himself from the saddle,
tied a loose rein to a scrub oak, and clambered up the bank.
With the noiseless step of a plainsman he pushed in through the
labyrinths of bush, only to halt petrified upon the very edge of that
inner barrier. No figment of imagination, but the glowing reality of
flesh and blood, awaited him. She had neither seen nor heard his
approach, and he stopped in perplexity. He had framed a dozen speeches
for her ears, yet now he could do no more than stand and gaze, his
heart in his eyes. And it was a vision to enchain, to hold lips
speechless. She was seated with unstudied grace on the edge of the
bank, her hands clasped about one knee, her sweet face sobered by
thought, her eyes downcast, the long lashes plainly outlined against
the clear cheeks. He marked the graceful sweep of her dark,
close-fitting dress, the white fringe of dainty underskirt, the small
foot, neatly booted, peeping from beneath, and the glimpse of round,
white throat, rendered even fairer by the creamy lace encircling it.
Pages:
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285