Geoffrey himself had also much to think about, and
found little satisfaction in the thinking. He threw his mind back over
the events of the past few weeks. He remembered how he had first seen
Beatrice's face through the thick mist on the Red Rocks, and how her
beauty had struck him as no beauty ever had before. Then he thought
of the adventure of their shipwreck, and of the desperate courage with
which she had saved his life, almost at the cost of her own. He thought,
too, of that scene when on the following day he had entered the room
where she was asleep, when the wandering ray of light had wavered from
her breast to his own, when that strange presentiment of the ultimate
intermingling of their lives had flashed upon him, and when she had
awakened with an unearthly greeting on her lips. While Effie slowly
sobbed herself to silence in the corner opposite to him, one by one, he
recalled every phase and scene of their ever-growing intimacy, till the
review culminated in his mysterious experience of the past night, and
the memory of Beatrice's parting words.
Of all men Geoffrey was among those least inclined to any sort of
superstition; from boyhood he had been noted for common sense, and
a somewhat disbelieving turn of mind.
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