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Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion), 1854-1909

"The Children of the King"


Then with the ease of great strength he drew himself along through
cranny and hollow till he was far from where they sat, and had reached
the place where the boats were made fast. It would seem natural to every
one that he should suddenly be standing there to see that all was right,
and that none of the moorings had slipped or chafed against the jagged
rocks. There he stood, gazing at the rippling water, at the tall yards
as they slowly crossed and recrossed the face of the moon, with the
rocking of the boats, at the cliffs to the right and left, at the dim
headland of the Campanella, at all the sights long familiar to
him--seeing none of them and yet feeling that they at least were his own
people, that they understood him and knew what he felt--what he had no
words with which to tell any one, if he had wished to tell it.
For he who loves and is little loved, or not at all, has no friend, be
he of high estate or low, beyond nature, the deep-bosomed, the
bountiful, the true; and on her he may lean, trusting, and know that he
will not be betrayed. And in time her language will be his. But she will
be heard alone when she speaks with him, and without rival, with the
full right of a woman who gives all her love and asks for a man's soul
in return, recking little of all the world besides.


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