Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

RADIANT LADY “Let him stay!’ said Araminta. “There are flowers enough for two.” Prometheus released the little animal, letting it down gently, and together they watched it scamper away into the shrub- bery, whence came a sound as of two creatures. “Hum e flowers for three, or, Doubtless he has a wife.” Araminta said nothing. “Lean your head back so, against the time stone,’ suggested Prometheus, noting that she sat uncomfortably. “That is much better, eh? Do you love the wind? If you. lie so, it will put its soft fingers about your throat! Ah! But you wear a collar! Is it not hot and uncomfortable?” “Yes, rather,’ she answered him. “Then why do you wear it?’ he queried, in evident surprise. ““Why—because people do wear col- lars, | suppose,” she said. bake jt off!’ he begged. “See, I wear no collar, and /, too, am a per- son. It is silly to wear a thing which is uncomfortable.” “T suppose it 1s,” with busy fingers. The bit of stiffly starched linen was in one hand now, and, with the other, she covered the band at her neck. “But—but what shall IE wear in- stead?” she pleaded. “I can’t go—even you would not want——” He took the collar from ier and put it on top of the dial. Then he re- garded her critically. “Turn in the other part, so that it is a little lower,’ he advised, “and I will make you a garland to trim yourself with.” “A garland!” ejaculated Araminta, laughing nervously, but delightedly. “Why, I never wore a garland!” “But you have made garlands grow,” “Enough more. said the man. maybe, admitted Araminta, said he. “My people always make garlands. Turn in the neck of your bodka.” Under the spell of his marvelous per- sonality, Araminta obeyed; actually obeyed, until the soft, white V at the base of her throat was laid bare. Then 77 she watched, entranced, as he brought poppies with full hands, and, lying upon ~ his back, began twisting their stems to- gether with skilled fingers. And, as he wove, he sang a strange little minor melody, while the world seemed to fade away, leaving them on some Elysian hillside, spirits of youth, glad of life, and thinking only of the sun, and wind, and the rosy garland. Once there came a murmur as of many distant, angry voices, borne in upon the breeze, and, at the sound, they sat alert, tense, a look coming into the man’s eyes as of a startled wild thing that hears the hunter. And the woman also listened painfully to she knew not what, in~ fected by his emotion. Then the sound passed, and, with its going, the smile crept back to the cor- ners of his mouth, and the song con- tinued unbroken, until it and _ the garland both were finished. Then he flung the silken blossoms about her shoulders, and, taking both her hands in his, drew her toward him. “Who is your lover?” he asked. “T have no lover,’ she answered him. Why did she tremble so? Prome- theus drew her nearer still, and, some- how, her will to resist left her, and she forgot everything except the strength and beauty of him. There was a warm perfume to him, like the heat of a sun- kissed meadow. His hands were brown and strong, and stained with poppy juice. “No lover?” he questioned softly. “Alas!” she said, smiling. “But you are very beautiful,” he said again. “Beautiful!” This time her heart leaped at the word. “Oh, no!” she murmured. you, that i is, if only I were He put both her hands in one of his, and, holding them firmly, reached up with a swift motion and pulled out the two great pins of shell which held her pale hair so snugly. Then a miracle took place. All about her fell the shin- ing masses, wave on wave, till it cov- ered her shoulders and her narrow waist, and even tumbled upon the grass, glinting and glimmering in the dying om am not, EOL MUC ooyo)|‘< (E@)