They were talking together, these two who had come through storms to each other’s arms. Calm joy seemed theirs and deep content, a golden mood in which their thoughts were oblivious of all things save their love. Blanche leant her shoulder against the wall and watched them in silence, with her face in shadow.
“Tristan,” said the woman, “how dim seem the days when I played the great lady in Joyous Vale.”
He half turned his head upon her breast, so that he could look into her eyes.
“And I a wise fool,” she answered him. “Ah, Tristan, when shall we women learn that cleverness suffices not the heart? The great love in a strong man’s eyes, the trustful clinging of children’s hands, these are the things that make for heaven.”
“True,” he said to her, taking her hair and winding a bright tress round his wrist; “we are wise in small things, unwise in the great. God, love, and health—Heaven give me these, and I will not envy any man.”
But Blanche drew back from before the door with a shadow as of pain upon her face. Such then was life for those who loved, the godly light in a husband’s eyes, the trusting smile of an honoured wife. For her there could be no magic words, no clinging lips, no straining hands. In her deep loneliness she turned away, and passed back to gaze on the restless sea.
THE LAME ENGLISHMAN THE RUST OF ROME THE RETURN OF THE PETTICOAT THE RED SAINT MAD BARBARA BERTRAND OF BRITTANY THE SLANDERERS A WOMAN’S WAR BESS OF THE WOODS LOVE AMONG THE RUINS UTHER AND IGRAINE
Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C.
Spelling and hyphenation have been left as in the original. A few obvious typesetting errors have been corrected without note.
[End of _The Seven Streams_ by Warwick Deeping]
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Seven Streams, by Warwick Deeping