And as she saw the
transparent skin, the vivid flush, the restless air--saw the way
Reyburn had, as he walked with her, as he bent to her, as he folded
her shawl about her--the way he had of absorbing her, a hasty
remembrance of the night when he stooped over Lilian's hand came to
her, and she remembered also how she herself had hated him. "The man
has bewitched her," said Helen an hour afterward--an hour of watching
and puzzling. "She is fond of John still: she cannot bear to break his
heart--she would rather break her own--and she is dying of her
attraction to the other." As she sat there, still observing them,
wondering what could be done, she turned and laid her arm on her
brother's shoulder, and rested her head beside it with her eyes full
of tears. And at the movement John bent and kissed her forehead, and
she saw that he himself was at last awake; and Reyburn, looking at
them, saw it too. Perhaps the tears dimmed her sight a little, and
gave Lilian a sort of glorified look to her, standing still a moment
with the light of the late rising moon on her face; but then as her
gaze fell again on Reyburn, on his lofty form and kingly manner, his
proud face, his bold bright eye, it seemed to her as if it were
Lucifer tempting an angel; and all at once she had resolved what she
would do to save Lilian, to save her brother.
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