Page:Magdalen by J S Machar.pdf/128

 He was tired of his relations to Lucy. In the depth of his soul he felt that, though he had acted foolishly, he had done the proper thing. Lucy was now living in retirement, unknown to any one; she was the whole life of his aunt, to whom he owed so much, and that was well. ’Tis true, the enchantment which had once blinded his eye had paled: he looked at her now with an entirely different eye,—with the eye of a man that surveys a maiden’s attractive body.

When he saw her bending over a book or some sewing, her full bosom heaving in even measure, he felt a mad desire to embrace her, to clasp her in his arms,—but he only passed his hand over his brow, and chided himself with scornful irony. Otherwise, her whole presence annoyed him. When they were together, the weight of her soul fell upon him. He always felt something stronger and purer in her, and that annoyed him. Before his eyes hovered her past, but in vain; at last, in his vanity, he convinced