The Story
of Saville
II.
Well,—to a man in a dungeon an infinitesimal thing
Looms large as the fate of an empire doth to a fetterless king,
And for the first time in aeons Kyrle felt a surcease of pain,
Casting the slough of his anguish a blessed brief hour or twain,—
’Twas something to hope and to live for, that hour in the afternoon,
To question if fate would vouchsafe him a second such velvety boon,—
He would not fail to keep tryst,—not he! And yet—O heaven!—and yet—
What? had he sunk to this estate? to care if some selfish coquette,
A pampered doll, an idol of clay, born only to drive men mad,
Yielded or not to such sweet ruth as yesterday she had?
She came, with her printless hurrying feet stepping so shamed and fast
Scarce had he guessed her near him at all ere she had onward passed,
And when she had turned and again approached it seemed that she would have gone
