Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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“Of Anthony!” exclaimed Rowton. “Who is Anthony?”

“My brother Anthony. Oh! we must not speak of him.”

“Had you a brother named Anthony?” asked Rowton.

“I had. He is dead. I never care to talk of him. You look queer, Adrian; did you ever know anyone of that name?”

“Yes, I once met a man of the name. He passed into my life and passed out of it; I have a somewhat disagreeable reminiscence of him. Let us go downstairs, Nance; why should we stay here alone?”

“But it is our wedding night,” she answered. She went to his side, put her arms round his neck and laid her fair soft head on his breast.

“Look me in the face, little girl,” said her husband. He placed his hand under her chin and raised her charming face, gazing full into the lovely eyes which she raised to his. “You don’t hate your husband now, do you?”

“No, no, no!” she reiterated. “It was a passing sensation, just a momentary queer stirring in my heart; it came when I suddenly remembered that we were in Paris for our honeymoon. The fact is this, Adrian. Since father’s death I have been in a whirl, and it was only a few minutes ago that I suddenly remembered Paris in connection with⸺ Oh! there is something I must never say to you—the thought rather overpowered me for a moment, and I remembered poor dead Anthony. I won’t speak of him again. Yes, I love you, my darling, my best, my noblest. Adrian, I mean to be a good wife to you.”