Serapis
SERAPIS By Georg Ebers Volume 5. CHAPTER XX. Gorgo, when she had left her grandmother, could not rest. Her lofty calmness of demeanor had given way to a restless mood such as she had always contemned severely in others, since she had ceased to be a vehement child and grown to be a woman. She tried to beguile the alarm that made her pulses beat so quickly, and the heart-sickness that ached like a wound, by music and singing; but this only added to her torment. The means by which she could usually recover her equanimity of mind had lost their efficacy, and Sappho's longing hymn, which she began to sing, had only served to bring the fervid longing of her own heart to light-- to set it, as it were, in the full glare of the sun. She had become aware that every fibre, every nerve of her being yearned for the man she
upon the pillow than his eyes closed, and he slept as peacefully as a
tired child.
CHAPTER III
CROSSING WITH ROYALTY
After a perfectly uneventful voyage, the _Ivernia_, with Edestone
and his three men aboard, swung slowly to her dock. As the big vessel
had approached the coast the few cabin passengers were at first a
little nervous, but the contempt in which the officers held, or
pretended to hold, the submarine menace made itself soon felt
throughout the ship, and but for the thinness of their ranks all went
as usual. It is true that the little group of army contract-seekers
and returning refugees seemed to enjoy constituting themselves into
special look-outs, and regarded it as their particular duty, as long
as it did not interfere with their game of bridge, or might cause them
to lose a particularly comfortable and sheltered corner of the deck,
to notify the stewards if they happened to see anything which to them
looked like a periscope or floating mine.
Throughout the voyage Edestone kept very much to himself and in his
SERAPIS By Georg Ebers Volume 5. CHAPTER XX. Gorgo, when she had left her grandmother, could not rest. Her lofty calmness of demeanor had given way to a restless mood such as she had always contemned severely in others, since she had ceased to be a vehement child and grown to be a woman. She tried to beguile the alarm that made her pulses beat so quickly, and the heart-sickness that ached like a wound, by music and singing; but this only added to her torment. The means by which she could usually recover her equanimity of mind had lost their efficacy, and Sappho's longing hymn, which she began to sing, had only served to bring the fervid longing of her own heart to light-- to set it, as it were, in the full glare of the sun. She had become aware that every fibre, every nerve of her being yearned for the man she