Then he began
to lose strength. Norine was the first to realize the truth, but
it was some time before she would acknowledge it, even to herself.
At last, however, she had to face the fact that Esteban's months
of prison fare, the abuse, the neglect he had suffered in Spanish
hands, had left him little more than a living corpse. It seemed as
if fever had burned him out, or else some dregs of disease still
lingered in his system and had all but quenched that elusive spark
which for want of a better name we call vitality.
Esteban, too, awoke to the fact that he was losing ground, and his
dismay was keen, for a wonderful thing had come into his life and
he spent much of his time in delicious contemplative day dreams
concerning it, waiting for the hour when he would dare translate
those dreams into realities. It seemed to him that he had always
loved Norine; certainly she had enshrined herself in his heart
long before his mind had regained its clarity, for he had come out
of his delirious wanderings with his love full grown. There had
been no conscious beginning to it; he had emerged from darkness
into dazzling glory, all in an instant. Not until he found himself
slipping backward did he attempt to set a guard upon himself, for
up to that hour he had never questioned his right to love. He
found his new task heavy, almost too much for him to bear.
Pages:
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429