With his vast strength, his shaggy hair, his smoky aspect, and the
indescribable earthiness that incrusted him, he seemed to represent
man's physical nature; while Aylmer's slender figure, and pale,
intellectual face, were no less apt a type of the spiritual element.
"Throw open the door of the boudoir, Aminadab," said Aylmer, "and burn
a pastil."
"Yes, master," answered Aminadab, looking intently at the lifeless
form of Georgiana; and then he muttered to himself, "If she were my
wife, I'd never part with that birthmark."
When Georgiana recovered consciousness she found herself breathing an
atmosphere of penetrating fragrance, the gentle potency of which had
recalled her from her deathlike faintness. The scene around her looked
like enchantment. Aylmer had converted those smoky, dingy, sombre
rooms, where he had spent his brightest years in recondite[4]
pursuits, into a series of beautiful apartments not unfit to be the
secluded abode of a lovely woman. The walls were hung with gorgeous
curtains, which imparted the combination of grandeur and grace that no
other species of adornment can achieve; and, as they fell from the
ceiling to the floor, their rich and ponderous folds, concealing all
angles and straight lines, appeared to shut in the scene from infinite
space. For aught Georgiana knew, it might be a pavilion among the
clouds. And Alymer, excluding the sunshine, which would have
interfered with his chemical processes, had supplied its place with
perfumed lamps, emitting flames of various hue, but all uniting in a
soft, impurpled radiance.
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