A Silver Brand — page 168: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

* 160 _A SILVER BRAND, strength to wear my mask of haughtiness and scorn. There is alimit to human endurance. I am weak and vulnerable to day. You must not tempt me. Go away, and leave me to recover strength.” As she spoke she sank down indolently upon the grassy bank, the round white arms falling listlessly over her lap. A far less imperious man would have resisted a dis- missal in that languid voice. Von Schubert's dark face kindled with passionate love, and an almost triumphant joy, as he moved nearer. | ‘Lady Theresa, dear Lady Theresa, your sweet confes- sion thrills me with new hope. It is a mask, your cold- ness, and pride, and haughtiness to your wild adorer, your devoted servant! thenit hides your tr.e sentiments. I too am tired, tired and sick at heart waiting for a single tender word from the lips that hold a fiat for me more mo- mentous than anything my royal master can do or say. Give me one little ray of hope, Lady Theresa.” He flung himself down upon the bank at her feet, and looked imploringly into her face. Noone could question the strength and sincerity of the overmastering passion which consumed him, gazing into his agitated face. Still she hung her head and twisted the white fingers nervously together. “You know how I love you, Lady Theresa,” he went on, in alow, deep tone. “ You know that I linger here, like a wretched coward, only to catch a glimpse now and then of your face—to hear your voice, even though it speak but angry and bitter words. You know that you have dis- armed my just resentment against your father—softened the wrath and family hatred that was instilled with my earliest breath—made me half despise myself, and yet cling, caressing the chains that fetter and degrade me. You know all this—why.do I teil. it over to you? And yet, Theresa, you have never yet given me a pitying word.” ) “ Have I not?” murmured she, softly; ‘‘and that shows what implicit obedience I have yielded to duty. Herr von Schubert, my father’s daughter, should not have a pitying word—she is. culpable if she allows a secret friendly thought for the jailer of Schwarzenberg Heights.” He frowned and bit his lip, and then returned impetu- ’ ously: . “Am I not compelled to obey the royal mandate? More- over, 1s it not for all your good that I remain? Another man, selected by the prince, would be likely to be cruel, ~Ecomicbooks (e(e)