On the way
they scarcely spoke. The doctor, summoned by a messenger, was there
before them. He, although ignorant of what had passed been Julian and
Valentine, was deeply expectant. Cuckoo was exhausted by the sleepless
night of her vigil over Julian, and by the severe joy, almost like pain,
that had burst upon her with his avowal and with his savage embrace.
When she entered the tentroom followed by Julian, she looked like a
shadow gliding wearily through twilight. The doctor was there with
Valentine. Valentine's face was gay. His manner was ardent, almost
tempestuous. The clear calmness so generally characteristic of him had
vanished, swept away by the flood of his triumph perhaps. Julian seemed
nervous, and his appearance was so haggard as to be engrossing to any one
who was observant. There was a hunted, fearful look in his eyes. His
hands were never for a moment still. He kept close to Cuckoo. He even
held her hands as he sat by her, and she felt that his were burning hot.
He scarcely noticed the doctor, who observed him closely. Valentine
watched his feverish excitement with laughing eyes. Of those four people
he alone seemed entirely untouched by any deep emotion, entirely master
of himself. For even Doctor Levillier was curiously moved that night, and
was unable to suppress every trace of abnormal emotion.
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