Maurice still stayed on at the Ormgrass Farm,
but a strange, feverish mood had come over him. He daily measured the
downward progress of the glacier in agitated expectancy, although as a
scientific experiment it had long ceased to yield him any
satisfaction. That huge congealed residue of ten thousand winters had,
however, acquired a human interest to him which it had lacked before;
what he had lost as a scientist he had gained as a man. For, with all
respect for Science, that monumental virgin at whose feet so many
cherished human illusions have already been sacrificed, it is not to
be denied that from an unprofessional point of view a warm-blooded,
fair-faced little creature like Elsie is a worthier object of a
bachelor's homage. And, strive as he would, Maurice could never quite
rid himself of the impression that the glacier harbored in its snowy
bosom some fell design against Elsie's peace and safety. It is even
possible that he never would have discovered the real nature of his
feelings for her if it had not been for this constant fear that she
might any moment be Snatched away from him.
It was a novel experience in a life like his, so lonely amid its cold,
abstract aspirations, to have this warm, maidenly spring-breath
invading those chambers of his soul, hitherto occupied by shivering
calculations regarding the duration and remoteness of the ice age.
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