Read Online The Karma of Love (Bantam Series No. 14) by Barbara Cartland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Cartland
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gowns.
She could hear as she moved across the ship the sound of laughter and raised voices from the Smoking-Saloon, where there was a Bar, and she had a glimpse of a number of passengers in the Card-Room speaking only in low voices as they concentrated on their game.
The big Saloon was almost empty and she was sure that the General and Lady Critchley had long since retired to bed.
She went out on deck and moving for’ard stood against the rail to look out into the night.
The ship was passing very slowly through the Canal, the little pilot-ship with its red and green lights puffing ahead of them. They moved so slowly it was almost as if they stood still and even the engines were quiet .
Far away, as far as the eye could see, there was the vast emptiness of the desert sands, but above the sky was brilliant with stars and a crescent moon was adding its light to the Heavens.
It was so lovely that Orissa could only draw in her breath. It seemed to be part of all she had been talking about with Mr. Mahla. She felt it almost explained without words the subjugation of Self, the instinct for perfection.
“What does it look like to you?” a voice beside her asked.
Somehow she was not surprised to find that Major Meredith had joined her.
“I was trying to put that into words for myself,” she answered.
It was as if they had been talking for a long time and their discussion had not just begun but had been continuous.
He did not speak and she went on:
“It is so beautiful, so unbelievably, wonderfully beautiful! And yet at the same time it is frightening!”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me realise how small and unimportant I am. Every one of those stars may hold mil lions of other people like us looking, wondering and trying to understand.”
“What do they want to understand?”
“That is the question that mankind has asked since the beginning of time ... why he was not given the power to understand himself.”
“And you find yourself an enigma?”
“But of course,” Orissa answered. “Ever since I was a child I have asked ‘Who am I? ’ and hoped that I would one day know the answer.”
“It should not be very difficult for someone like you.”
His voice seemed to deepen on the last word.
“But it is!” Orissa answered. “More difficult than you can realize.”
“Why could I not realize what you are trying to say?”
“Because ... I cannot explain it ... I only know that when I look at the world like this I feel ... so very small, helpless and alone.”
Orissa raised her head to look up at the stars as she spoke.
The man watching could see the perfection of her profile—the soft sensitiveness of her lips and the lovely line of her neck very white in the starlight against the faint glitter of the spangled scarf she wore around her shoulders.
It was a movement of grace, so beautiful and in some ways so spiritual that for a moment he drew in his breath.
Then in a voice which held an undeniable hint of mockery in it he said:
“If that is what is troubling you there is no need for loneliness.”
As he spoke he put his arms around her and drew her almost roughly against him.
As her head fell back against his shoulder—his lips were on hers!
For a moment Orissa was numb with surprise, so that she could not think; could not take in what had happened!
Then when she should have thrust him away, it was impossible to move. The hard insistence of his lips held her captive. She felt as if his arms imprisoned her and yet at the same time gave her a sense of security and belonging.
She had never been kissed before and the strange mystical feeling that seemed to possess her was something that was not a human emotion but a narcotic which drugged her mind until she could not think.
It was strange and yet at the same time so utterly and completely wonderful that the stars, the darkness of the night, and the moon were a part of the man who possessed her.
His lips were a warm, demanding wonder, which
She could hear as she moved across the ship the sound of laughter and raised voices from the Smoking-Saloon, where there was a Bar, and she had a glimpse of a number of passengers in the Card-Room speaking only in low voices as they concentrated on their game.
The big Saloon was almost empty and she was sure that the General and Lady Critchley had long since retired to bed.
She went out on deck and moving for’ard stood against the rail to look out into the night.
The ship was passing very slowly through the Canal, the little pilot-ship with its red and green lights puffing ahead of them. They moved so slowly it was almost as if they stood still and even the engines were quiet .
Far away, as far as the eye could see, there was the vast emptiness of the desert sands, but above the sky was brilliant with stars and a crescent moon was adding its light to the Heavens.
It was so lovely that Orissa could only draw in her breath. It seemed to be part of all she had been talking about with Mr. Mahla. She felt it almost explained without words the subjugation of Self, the instinct for perfection.
“What does it look like to you?” a voice beside her asked.
Somehow she was not surprised to find that Major Meredith had joined her.
“I was trying to put that into words for myself,” she answered.
It was as if they had been talking for a long time and their discussion had not just begun but had been continuous.
He did not speak and she went on:
“It is so beautiful, so unbelievably, wonderfully beautiful! And yet at the same time it is frightening!”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me realise how small and unimportant I am. Every one of those stars may hold mil lions of other people like us looking, wondering and trying to understand.”
“What do they want to understand?”
“That is the question that mankind has asked since the beginning of time ... why he was not given the power to understand himself.”
“And you find yourself an enigma?”
“But of course,” Orissa answered. “Ever since I was a child I have asked ‘Who am I? ’ and hoped that I would one day know the answer.”
“It should not be very difficult for someone like you.”
His voice seemed to deepen on the last word.
“But it is!” Orissa answered. “More difficult than you can realize.”
“Why could I not realize what you are trying to say?”
“Because ... I cannot explain it ... I only know that when I look at the world like this I feel ... so very small, helpless and alone.”
Orissa raised her head to look up at the stars as she spoke.
The man watching could see the perfection of her profile—the soft sensitiveness of her lips and the lovely line of her neck very white in the starlight against the faint glitter of the spangled scarf she wore around her shoulders.
It was a movement of grace, so beautiful and in some ways so spiritual that for a moment he drew in his breath.
Then in a voice which held an undeniable hint of mockery in it he said:
“If that is what is troubling you there is no need for loneliness.”
As he spoke he put his arms around her and drew her almost roughly against him.
As her head fell back against his shoulder—his lips were on hers!
For a moment Orissa was numb with surprise, so that she could not think; could not take in what had happened!
Then when she should have thrust him away, it was impossible to move. The hard insistence of his lips held her captive. She felt as if his arms imprisoned her and yet at the same time gave her a sense of security and belonging.
She had never been kissed before and the strange mystical feeling that seemed to possess her was something that was not a human emotion but a narcotic which drugged her mind until she could not think.
It was strange and yet at the same time so utterly and completely wonderful that the stars, the darkness of the night, and the moon were a part of the man who possessed her.
His lips were a warm, demanding wonder, which
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