Then there came
another thought to him out of the shadows, where Serafina was
standing all white, a figure of solace. Who was this man who so
mysteriously blended with the other unknown things that haunted
the gloom of that chamber? Why had he fought him at night? What
was he to Serafina? Thoughts crowded up to him from the interior
of the darkness, sombre and foreboding as the shadows that nursed
them. He stood there never daring to speak to Serafina; looking
for permission to speak, such as a glance might give. And no
glance came.
And now, as though soothed by her beauty, the hurt man closed his
eyes. Serafina stood beside him anxious and silent, gleaming in
that dim place. The servant at the far end of the chamber still
held his one candle high, as though some light of earth were
needed against the fantastic moon, which if unopposed would give
everything over to magic. Rodriguez stood there, scarcely
breathing. All was silent. And then through the door by which
Serafina had come, past that lonely, golden, moon-defying candle,
all down the long room across moonlight and blackness, came the
lady of the house, Serafina's mother. She came, as Serafina came,
straight toward the man on the couch, giving no look to Rodriguez,
walking something as Serafina walked, with the same poise, the
same dignity, though the years had carried away from her the grace
Serafina had: so that, though you saw that they were mother and
daughter, the elder lady called to mind the lovely things of
earth, large gardens at evening, statues dim in the dusk, summer
and whatsoever binds us to earthly things; but Serafina turned
Rodriguez' thoughts to the twilight in which he first saw her, and
he pictured her native place as far from here, in mellow fields
near the moon, wherein she had walked on twilight outlasting any
we know, with all delicate things of our fancy, too fair for the
rugged earth.
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