He
found himself searching for words to describe his pain, that he might
elicit more of that curative sweet.
"I was very near to death," he added seriously.
"What--what happened?" she asked, noting the pallor on his face under
the suffusion which his pleasure had made there.
"There was one more in the party than was needed; so my amiable
companion reduced the number by stabbing me in the back," he
explained.
There was instant silence. Slowly she drew away from him. Entire
pallor covered her face and in her eyes grew a horror.
"Did--do you say that Philadelphus stabbed--you--in the back?" she
asked, speaking slowly.
"Phila--" he stopped on the brink of a puzzled inquiry, and for a
space they regarded each other, each turning over his own perplexity
for himself.
"Ask me that again," he commanded her suddenly. "I did not
understand."
She hesitated and closed her lips. Her husband had stabbed this man in
the back! Because of her? No! Philadelphus had refused to believe her.
Why then should he have committed such a deed?
"So you are not ready to believe it of this--Philadelphus?" he asked,
venturing his question on an immense surmise that was forcing itself
upon him.
She looked at him with beseeching eyes. How was she to regard herself
in this matter? A partizan of the man she hated, or a sympathizer with
this stranger who had already given her too much joy? Was she never to
know any good of this man to whom she was wedded? For a moment losing
sight of her concern for Judea and her resolution that her father
should not have died in vain, she was rejoiced that another woman had
taken her place by his side.
Pages:
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217