Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1924)

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Muller, General Secretary, Nellie Revell Book Committee 220 West 42nd Street New York Three Weeks (Continued from page 30) of life is before you. Life in your England, safe and full of daily joys. Work. Family. You are so young . . ." those words were a caress. Paul felt the implication and a slight tremor shook him. He tried to speak, but the Lady stopped him with a slight gesture ; "I shall hurt you very much, Paul," she said, "if I give you your soul, it will be a soul to save, but it will be, also, a soul to suffer. Never again will you see things quite as you see thern now. Never again will the little joys be sufficient for you. It is a tremendous step . . . Paul. . . . "You must never seek to discover who I am. Nor where I come from. You and I ... I for you . . . you for me . . . that must be the boundary of our world . . . within that world. . . ." The Lady stretched forth her arms and Paul thought the moonlight filtered in thru the halfdrawn curtains as if to get within her circling arms. . . . "All around me." the Lady resumed, "are blood and tears and cold steel ... are these fit things . . . for love . . .?" Paul came near to her and dropped on his knees. He took her hand and covered it with kisses, ardent and warm. What did blood and cold steel matter to him if he could hold that hand? What were tears if they fell from their eyes fired once by love like this? What were life and death but tributes to a greater thing than either one of these? He tried to tell her so, in a voice that broke and faltered from overweight of emotion. The Lady took a tuberose from her breast and crushed it into his hand so closely clasping hers. "Go, Paul, and dream of me," she said, "I must be alone . . . and remember . . . there is Tomorrow . . ." On the morrow, just as Paul was writing Isabella a difficult letter breaking their engagement, the Lady's servant, Dimitry, came to him with a summons from the Lady. Paul found her resting on the royal tiger skin he had sent her in the morning. He found it while walking with rapid restless steps about the village near at hand. It had seemed to him like the Lady. Magnificent. AA'ild. Tender. A fit place for her to rest, who, he knew, could never really rest. When he came to her he knew that she loved it. That she knew why he had sent it. And when she called him to her and, for the first time, she held him in her arms, close to her beautiful, throbbing breast, Paul knew all things beautiful and strange. All things holy and high. All things mystical and merciful. He knew, too, that underneath the light of her eyes were the sad tears she had warned him of. That underneath her satin skin was the threat of cold steel. That underneath the tumult of their hearts was the blood that might any day be spilled. . . . Their lips met . . . worlds raced past them . . . life and death were never again more than \\'ords to Paul . . . Later, he sat at her feet and showed her pictures of his home, of his mother and father, of his dog. Pike. And the Lady, unwontedly quiet and at peace, stroked his fair head with fingers that were softer and tenderer than the moonlight had been when it fell upon him the night he had first seen her. . . . Days and nights . . . Nights and days . . .