"
The feel of his arms round her, the strength and passion of that moment,
were so terribly sweet, that she died to thought, just looking up at
him, with lips parted and eyes darker with the depth of her love than he
had ever dreamed that eyes could be. The madness of his own feeling kept
him silent. And they stood there, so merged in one another that they
knew and cared nothing for any other mortal thing. It was very still in
the room; the roses and carnations in the lustre bowl, seeming to know
that their mistress was caught up into heaven, had let their perfume
steal forth and occupy every cranny of the abandoned air; a hovering
bee, too, circled round the lovers' heads, scenting, it seemed, the
honey in their hearts.
It has been said that Miltoun's face was not unhandsome; for Audrey Noel
at this moment when his eyes were so near hers, and his lips touching
her, he was transfigured, and had become the spirit of all beauty. And
she, with heart beating fast against him, her eyes, half closing from
delight, and her hair asking to be praised with its fragrance, her
cheeks fainting pale with emotion, and her arms too languid with
happiness to embrace him--she, to him, was the incarnation of the woman
that visits dreams.
So passed that moment.
The bee ended it; who, impatient with flowers that hid their honey so
deep, had entangled himself in Audrey's hair.
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