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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"

"
"Do you, indeed?"
I stared toward her, puzzled, bewildered, yet conscious that the hot
blood was surging through my veins.
"You cannot mean the other?" I questioned, the swift words tripping
over themselves in sudden eagerness. "That--that you love me?"
"And why not? Am I so different from other women?"
I held the tiller still with one hand, but the other arm was free, and
I reached out, and drew her toward me. There was no resistance, no
effort to break away. I could see her face uplifted, the wide-open
eyes.
"Different! Yes; so vastly different, that I misunderstood everything.
But now I know, and--and sweetheart, I love you, I love you."
It could not have been long, not to exceed a moment or two, when a
sudden leaping of the boat brought us back to a realization of our
position. As soon as I had regained control of the craft, I reached
out again and touched her hand.
"This is all so strange, so unexpected, I can scarcely comprehend what
has occurred."
"Strange, yes, in the way it has happened," she coincided. "But we
cannot afford to dwell upon that now. We are in peril. Do you really
know where we are? for what you are steering?"
"It is largely a guess; there is nothing to give me guidance, except as
I unscrew the face of this compass and feel the needle.


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