"I will never leave this city
alive," he said. "I wouldn't mention it except that I realize that
you must know it as well as I. I was pretty badly torn up by the
lion and this fellow here has about finished me. There might be
some hope if we were among civilized people, but here with these
frightful creatures what care could we get even if they were
friendly?"
Bertha Kircher knew that he spoke the truth, and yet she could not
bring herself to an admission that Smith-Oldwick would die. She
was very fond of him, in fact her great regret was that she did
not love him, but she knew that she did not.
It seemed to her that it could be such an easy thing for any girl
to love Lieutenant Harold Percy Smith-Oldwick--an English officer
and a gentleman, the scion of an old family and himself a man of
ample means, young, good-looking and affable. What more could a
girl ask for than to have such a man love her and that she possessed
Smith-Oldwick's love there was no doubt in Bertha Kircher's mind.
She sighed, and then, laying her hand impulsively on his forehead,
she whispered, "Do not give up hope, though. Try to live for my
sake and for your sake I will try to love you."
It was as though new life had suddenly been injected into the
man's veins. His face lightened instantly and with strength that
he himself did not know he possessed he rose slowly to his feet,
albeit somewhat unsteadily.
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