Avon Fantasy Reader No. 8 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

110 EVERIL WORRELL at me from the darkness, the glow of two eyes seeming to light up the face, and to detach it from the darkness? Surely, there could be no doubt as to the eyes. They shone as the eyes of ani- mals shine in the dark, with a phosphorescent gleam, and a glimmer of red! Well, I had heard that some human eyes have that quality at night. But what a place for a human being to be—a girl, too, I was sure. That daintily heart-shaped face was the face of a girl, surely; I was seeing it clearer and clearer, either because my eyes were growing more accustomed to peer- ing into the deeper shadows, or because of that phosphorescence in the eyes that stared back at me. $ I raised my voice softly, not to break too much the stillness of the night. “Hello! who’s there? Are you lost, or marooned, and can I help?” There was a little pause. I was conscious of a soft lapping at my feet. A stronger night wind had sprung up, was ruffling the dark waters. I had been overwarm, and where it struck me the perspiration turned cold. on my body, so that I shivered uncontrollably. “You can stay—and talk awhile, if you will. I am lonely, but not lost. I—I live here.” I could hardly believe my ears. The voice was little more than a whisper, but it had carried clearly—a girl’s voice, sure enough. And she lived there— in an old, abandoned canal-boat, half submerged in the stagnant water. “You are not alone there?” | : “No, not alone. My father lives here with me, but he is deaf—and he sleeps soundly.” Did the night wind blow still colder, as though it came to-us from some unseen, frozen sea—or was there something in her tone that chilled me, even as a strange attraction drew me toward her? I wanted to draw near to her, to see closely the pale, heart-shaped face, to lose myself in the bright eyes that I had seen shining in the darkness. I wanted—I wanted to hold her in my arms, to find her mouth with mine, to kiss it. . . ; : With a start, I realized the nature of my thoughts, and for an instant lost all thought in surprise. Never in my twenty-two years had I felt love before. My iancies had been otherwise directed—a moss-grown, fallen gravestone was a dearer thing to me to contemplate than the fairest face in all the world. Yet, surely, what I felt now was love! : I took a reckless step nearer the edge of the bank. “Could I come over to you?” I begged. “It’s warm, and I don’t mind a wetting. It’s late, I know—but I would give a great deal to sit beside you and talk, if only for a few minutes before I go back to town. It’s a lonely place here for a girl like you to live—your father should not mind if you exchange a few words with someone occasionally.” , Was it the unconventionality of my request that made her next words cComicbooks.com