Never had he known a passion strong enough and forbidden
enough to cause him a pang or a sleepless hour till now. Had not his
life been happy? What did he want with more? Ah, if he could but
blot out for ever all that the last month had brought with it. If he
could but be again as he had been before this woman had cast her
sorcery on him. Ah, would to God that his eyes had never seen her!
Was it yet too late? Could he not even now tear her from his mind,
shut his eyes to the recollection of her, so command his imagination
that it should never again present the image of her to his fancy?
And thereupon forthwith uncommanded fancy was busy with every detail
of the beauties that had so made him their slave. The line of the
neck and shoulder which he had looked down on as he stood at the
sofa head; all the white ivory from the fresh innocent rosy little
ear to the swell of the curves about the bosom; the intoxicating
perfume from the heavy tresses of the hair; the lithe slender waist,
round and yielding; the slight nervous hands, the touch of whose
fingers fired the blood, as a match fires gunpowder; the exquisite
feet; and, oh God! that face, whose every feature, as he last looked
on it, was harmonized in an expression of love.
Quite still he sate for some minutes, conscious of nothing save the
pictures which memory was passing before his eye.
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