The sight of the coarse speeched, malevolent-looking man
with his squinting eye and unhealthy complexion, brought back the scene
of the night before which she would willingly have forgotten, and down
went her spirits to zero.
While she had been talking with Vane her heart was fluttering strangely.
She had eaten nothing since she had left Twickenham and she was
conscious of a weakness, of a trembling of the limbs. That passionate,
yearning look in Vane's eyes had aroused an excess of tenderness towards
him which overwhelmed her. She suddenly turned dizzy. She swooned.
When consciousness came back she was in his arms. He was as tremulous as
she and was looking at her pallid face with eyes of terror--a terror
which disappeared instantly when he saw life returning.
"My God," he cried, "I thought you were dead. I'd have killed myself had
it been so."
Lavinia gazed at him mutely. It was pleasant to have his arms round her,
and the feel of them gave her a sense of peace and rest. In her fancy
she had gone through an interminable period of oblivion--in reality it
was but a few seconds--and the struggle into life was painful. But she
was strengthened by his vitality and she gently withdrew herself from
his embrace, smoothed her hair and drew forward her hood which had
fallen back. Despite her pallor, or may be because of it, she never
looked more fascinating than at that moment with her hair tumbled, her
large dreamy eyes, and the delicious languor so charmingly suggestive of
helplessness, and of an appeal to him for protection.
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