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Dead Men Tell No Tales | E. W. Hornung | |
Chapter XIV In the Garden |
Page 6 of 8 |
"No - yes! I heard you say so last night." "And you don't want to know what for?" Out of politeness I protested that I did; but, as I live, all I wanted to know just then was whether my love loved me - whether she ever could - whether such happiness was possible under heaven! "You remember all that mystery about the cargo?" she continued eagerly, her pretty lips so divinely parted! "It turned out to be gunpowder," said I, still thinking only of her. "No - gold!" "But it was gunpowder," I insisted; for it was my incorrigible passion for accuracy which had led up to half our arguments on the voyage; but this time Eva let me off. "It was also gold: twelve thousand ounces from the diggings. That was the real mystery. Do you mean to say you never guessed?" "No, by Jove I didn't!" said I. She had diverted my interest at last. I asked her if she had known on board. "Not until the last moment. I found out during the fire. Do you remember when we said good-by? I was nearly telling you then." Did I remember! The very letter of that last interview was cut deep in my heart; not a sleepless night had I passed without rehearsing it word for word and look for look; and sometimes, when sorrow had spent itself, and the heart could bleed no more, vain grief had given place to vainer speculation, and I had cudgelled my wakeful brains for the meaning of the new and subtle horror which I had read in my darling's eyes at the last. Now I understood; and the one explanation brought such a tribe in its train, that even the perilous ecstasy of the present moment was temporarily forgotten in the horrible past. |
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Dead Men Tell No Tales E. W. Hornung |
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