There were low bushes growing within the stockade, however, and
in the shade of these Meriem sat down to think. A little glow of
happiness warmed her heart as she recalled her first meeting with
Korak and then the long years that he had cared for and protected
her with the solicitude and purity of an elder brother. For months
Korak had not so occupied her thoughts as he did today. He seemed
closer and dearer now than ever he had before, and she wondered
that her heart had drifted so far from loyalty to his memory. And
then came the image of the Hon. Morison, the exquisite, and Meriem
was troubled. Did she really love the flawless young Englishman?
She thought of the glories of London, of which he had told her in
such glowing language. She tried to picture herself admired and
honored in the midst of the gayest society of the great capital.
The pictures she drew were the pictures that the Hon. Morison had
drawn for her. They were alluring pictures, but through them all
the brawny, half-naked figure of the giant Adonis of the jungle
persisted in obtruding itself.
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