Читать книгу The Blind Man's House. A Quiet Story онлайн

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'Yes, sir.'

He said good-night and for an instant put his arm round her.

When she was alone again she sat there thinking, her hands tightly pressed together. With one solitary exception she loved him more than any single human being on earth. She loved him as though he were her son, although in truth he was her master and she was his housekeeper.

But she loved him also in another way—she loved him as though she were his defender, his protector. When Elinor Cromwell had died this suddenly had come to her—that now he was alone in the world. He had a brother and a sister, but both were married, with families of their own. He had no children and no friends of a close intimacy. His blindness marked him off from normal men. So she took him as her charge without his knowing it. When he told her that he was going to marry again she had known, for a little, a wounding, hurting jealousy. But only for a little. Her love for him was big enough to want his happiness beyond all else. He was a strong, lusty, physical being and she was wise about men. Men need women. She could not give him more than her secret protection. She was sorry at first when she knew that his second wife was little more than a girl, and even now, tonight, when she felt his passion, saw him tremble with it, there was a stab of jealousy again. She was sixty years of age but was she never to give any man love ever any more? No. Of course not. That was over for her, but the memory of it, the thoughts of it, were not over.