A ferryboat, a mass
of checkered brightness, plowed its way from Alcatraz--far off the city
lay like a many-stranded chain of glittering gems upon the water. Julia
and Doctor Studdiford let the others go on without them, and sat
together in the dim curve of the O'Connell seat, and the heartbreaking
beauty of the night wrapped them both in a happiness so deep as to touch
the borderland of pain.
"Was there ever such a night?" said little Julia. "Shall we ever be so
happy again?"
Jim could not see her clearly, but he saw her bright, soft eyes in the
gloom, the shimmer of her loosened hair, the little white-clad figure in
the seat's wide curve, and the crossed slim ankles. He put his arm about
her, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
"Don't say that, darling!" said Jim. "This is great, of course. But it's
nothing to all the happy months and years that we'll belong to each
other. Nothing but death will ever come between you and me, Julie!"
"And I shouldn't be afraid of death," murmured Julia, staring up at the
stars. "Strange--strange--strange that we all must go that way some
day!" she mused.
Pages:
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343