And now Lionel, hardly knowing what he was doing--for there
were such wild desires and longings in his brain--went to a small
cabinet hard by and brought forth the loving-cup he had given to Nina.
They two were the last who had drunk out of it. And if now, if once
again, on this last night of all the nights of the year, he were to
repeat his challenge, would she not know? He cared not in what form she
might appear--Nina could not be other than gentle--silent she might be,
but surely her eyes would shine with kindness and forgiveness. He was
not aware of it, but his fingers were trembling as he took the cup in
twain, and put the two tiny goblets on the table and filled them with
wine. Nay, in a sort of half-dazed fashion he went and opened the door
and left it wide--might there not be some shadowy footfall on the empty
stair! He returned to the table and sat down; it was almost twelve; he
was shivering a little--the night was cold.
All around him the silence appeared to grow more profound; there was
only the ticking of a clock. As minute after minute passed, the suspense
became almost unendurable; something seemed to be choking him; and yet
his eyes would furtively and nervously wander from the small goblets
before him to the open door, as if he expected some vision to present
itself there, from whatsoever distant shore it might come.
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