"I want you--only you, Mysie," and he
caught her in his arms in a strong burst of desire for her. "Mine,
Mysie, mine!" he cried, his lips upon hers and hers responding now, his
hot eyes greedily devouring her as he held her there in his strong young
arms. "Say, Mysie, that you are mine, that I am yours, body and soul
belonging to each other," and so he raved on in eager burning language,
which was the sweetest music in Mysie's ears.
His arms about her, he made her sit down, she still unresisting and
flattered by his words, he fondling and kissing her, his hands caressing
her face, her ears, her hair, her neck, his head sometimes resting upon
her breast.
Maddened and scorched by the passion raging within him, lured by the
magic of the night, and impelled by the invitation of the sweet dewy
lips that seemed to cry for kisses, he strained her to his breast.
He praised her eyes, her hair, her voice, whilst he poured kisses upon
her, his fire kindling her whole being into response.
Then a thick cloud came over the face of the moon, darkening the dell,
blotting out the silvery patterns on the ground, chasing the light
shadows into dark corners; and a far-off protest of a whaup shouting to
the hills was heard in a shriller and more anxious note that had
something of alarm in it; the burn seemed to bicker more loudly in its
anxiety to hurry on out into the open moor; and the scents and perfumes
of the wood sank into pale ghosts of far-off memories.
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