"This hand," she thought, with an
exquisite delight in secretly following the idea while he was close to
her--"this hand that has rescued the drowning from death is shifting my
pillows so tenderly that I hardly know when they are moved. This hand
that has seized men mad with mutiny, and driven them back to their
duty by main force, is mixing my lemonade and peeling my fruit more
delicately and more neatly than I could do it for myself. Oh, if I could
be a man, how I should like to be such a man as this!"
She never allowed her thoughts, while she was in his presence, to lead
her beyond that point. It was only when the night had separated them
that she ventured to let her mind dwell on the self-sacrificing devotion
which had so mercifully rescued her. Kirke little knew how she thought
of him, in the secrecy of her own chamber, during the quiet hours that
elapsed before she sank to sleep. No suspicion crossed his mind of the
influence which he was exerting over her--of the new spirit which he was
breathing into that new life, so sensitively open to impression in the
first freshness of its recovered sense. "She has nobody else to amuse
her, poor thing," he used to think, sadly, sitting alone in his small
second-floor room.
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