Page:Tongues of Flame (1924).pdf/401

 fade. The cold, penetrating light went out of her eyes to be replaced by one that was soft and compassionate. She appeared to see the man now, instead of something inside him, and at the sight all her expressions mellowed and grew tender. She touched his hand softly, experimentally. When it was not drawn away from her she took it fondly between her palms and warmed it, toyed with the fingers of it, petted it; and when presently she felt his figure less immobile, more responsive to her presence, heaved a sigh at last of grateful relief. She saw him too breathe deep at last and straighten. He was coming back to life—back to life. . . with her beside him!

"Henry," she breathed, "oh, Henry, dear!" and drew closer. "You are tired, dear; and no wonder! But you've won," she crowed. "You've whipped 'em all-l-l!" Her smile was wide. "And now what you need is rest—and love! Come away," she wooed softly. "Come away to Lahleet's island and rest. To my island! Wouldn't that be wonderful, Henry?" she coaxed, in soft, purring, arousing tones.

But Harrington's mind, still abstracted, associated only slowly. The thing that waked him like a magic was the mention of her island. Weary, jaded as he was, his imagination kindled at the contrast between these arid ashes and that enchanted speck of which his memory held so entrancing an experience. The island was soft and green and secluded, set like an emerald in a sapphire sea.

And Lahleet's lodge—with its low, down-stuffed couches of furs, with its soothing semi-darkness, with its glow of sun-gold at the cretonne-curtained windows, with its fragrance of herbs, with its broad fireplace in