But the clock of Fate cannot be put back. When the moment arrives, the
word is spoken or the deed done. Both of them were prepared for the
moment, and yet not just then prepared; for Love still holds his great
surprise somewhat in reserve.
They were in the drawing-room. The last vase had been filled, the last
wreath hung; and Sophia looked at her beautiful hands, marked with the
rim of the scissors, and stained with leaves and berries, in a little
affected distress. Julius seated himself on the sofa beside her. She
trembled, but he looked at her almost triumphantly. Over Sophia's heart
he knew his power. With the questioning, unwinking gaze of love his eyes
sought hers, and he tenderly spoke her name, "_Sophia_." She could
answer only by her conscious silence.
"My wife! Mine in lives long forgotten."
"O Julius!"
"Always mine; missed in some existences, recovered in others, but
bringing into every life with you my mark of ownership. See here."
Then he lifted her hand, and opening its palm upward, he placed his own
in the same attitude beside it. "Look into them both, Sophia, and see
how closely our line of fortune is alike. That is something, but
behold." And he showed her a singular mark, which had in his own palm
its precise counterpart.
"Is it not also in Charlotte's palm? In others?"
"No, indeed. Among all the women on earth, only yours has this facsimile
of my own.
Pages:
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116