Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

I2 The bloom of her cheeks was so perfect as to seem not human, yet its very perfec- tion appeared an essential part of her. As the strong colors of nature never jar but blend in a harmony more than mortal, so the rose of her cheeks, the flaming crimson of her lips blended in glory with her eyes, with the pulsing whiteness of her throat, with the soft, warm hair enveloping her head and nestling in wavy coils about her ears. They were little ears, close to the head, white, with the pure richness of mother-of-pearl. And every feature, eve-y surprizing attribute of beauty, was so attuned to all the others and to her stately majesty that none could say wherein she was most beautiful. The two men warmed to her presence as plants lift to the sun. Slowly she looked from one to the other. Her color deepened and her lips parted over small white teeth. ‘You have spoken, Geoffrey,” she said, and her voice was her father’s purified— deep, soft beyond mere music, as when a perfect bell is touched gently. Geoffrey looked his astonishment; she merely nodded, her eyes unfathomable as the sea. “You could not hide it, either of you,” and she laughed ripplingly, throwing back her head so that her throat gleamed like an alabaster column. “He has spoken,” Sir Giles answered slowly. “It is for you to decide, my daughter.” She looked straight at Geoffrey, drawing his gaze and holding it. “I have decided. Geoffrey knows my answer.” With a smothered cry of joy the boy fell at her feet, caught her hand in his and crushed it to his lips. Stooping, she laid her free hand on his head, playing with his yellow hair, and said happily— “Rise, Sir Geoffrey, my knight, brave 9) man and true! And as he rose, her eyes once more drew his, till he flung both arms about her and kissed her lips. “After the betrothal kiss, the ring,” he said, his tones unsteady with the force of his happiness. While yet her fingers lay caught in his, he placed his ring upon the betrothal finger, where its ruby glowed against the white flesh. It seemed to Geoffrey that his joy was Adventure too great to bear alone. He turned to Sir Giles and was confused to see the old man’s cheeks wet. “God keep you both, my childnen,” Gislac cried. “Ye are too fair for this wicked world.”’ CHAPTER ITI A STROKE IN THE DARK EOFFREY’S head was awhirl as he rode out from High Tower. Youth takes its jovs madly and is soon intoxicated by, its heady emotions. He would have thought on his great fortune, tasting it lingeringly; but the sheer force of his love rose within him like a tempest, blowing his senses along with it irresistibly. He gave the gray head, letting her take him where she would; she chose the homeward road, as a horse will. Down the steep hill of High Tower, across the fields, splashing and spattering through the brook she pelted, and Geoffrey neither checked nor guided her. The moon had set. It was black dark. But for him neither night nor road nor earth existed— nothing but his love. Less than a mile beyond the Sollett, Gislac’s land ended and his own began. But just before the boundary lay a deeper blot of darkness, where a clump of willows grew beside a brook. Save for them, not a bush nor a tree stood between the river and the Murkwood. The willows were no more than a blacker blackness in the heart of the night. Geoffrey would not have known of them had not a twig slapped his cheek. The blow brought tears to his eyes and roused him from his dreams. He pulled slightly to the right; and as he swerved, a sharp, numbing pang smote him in the breast. His brain reeled; the night rolled in upon him, smothering him. He strove to cry, choked, and knew no more. SOMEWHERE outside the tower of Zi Monrepaire a nightingale sang; the 5 darkness seemed to shiver, and a thin silver rift appeared in the east. Slowly the night dissolved; in the villages to the north and west cocks crew sleepy challenges. A steady, regular beat, faint but insistent, sounded somewhere far off. A timmy tongue of fire pierced the gray gloom of the chamber; and from the oratory COmiclbook C©