Читать книгу The Passionate Quest онлайн

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"Dear Rosina," he whispered, "I hadn't meant to say a word yet—not until I had done something in the world—not until I had something to offer you. And now I can't help it. Perhaps it is the one thing needed to keep me going, to give me faith and hope."

Her arms held him tighter. They were both very young for the love which gathered them into its marvellous keeping—hers, in those early moments, perhaps, something of the mother love that desires to protect and encourage one a little weaker than herself. But it was very wonderful, and the magic of it lasted until they heard the bell of the Parish Church chiming the hour of eleven. Then Philip tore himself away, picked up his cap with a little laugh and showed her the shilling.

"For my night's lodging, sweetheart!" he exclaimed, as he made his way towards the door. "Wish me luck."

She called out after him, wanting to pack him a bag, reminding him of his sponges, pyjamas—all sorts of things he ought to have. There was no reply save the sound of his rapid footsteps descending the narrow stairs. She hurried to the window, watched him emerge from the shabby house, watched him cross the street. There was something new about him, new about his carriage, new about the way he held his head and swung his arms. Her heart beat with joy and pride as she looked downwards. For the first time, he was facing life like a victor.