Summary

Bernard Capes Bag and Baggage — The Hamadryad (1913)

In the agony of that impossible loss, he leapt and ran round the tree. He trod upon his lantern, and, stumbling, caught at the trunk. It seemed soft to his hand, warm and palpitating. In an access of emotion, he threw himself upon it, gripping and striving as if he would bear it down. "Your secret!" he panted; "yield it!"
And suddenly it seemed to melt beneath him; soft arms came about his neck; a voice sighed in his ear: "Captured! O, captured! A moth for a moth, you dearest!"
Source: Wikisource

Bernard Capes Bag and Baggage — The Hamadryad (1913)

At the first, he could separate her no more than the moth from the bark against which she rested; but presently the sense of a bewitching child-face, half shy, half alluring, of a faint glow-worm mist of hair, of limbs like rounded stones gleaming through dark water, grew upon him from doubt to certainty and from certainty to rapture. His inquietude from the outset had never approached fear nearer than its boundaries in a fearful joy. Now, at a leap, it had become an overmastering emotion of desire, a passion to absorb and possess. He forgot himself
Source: Wikisource

Bernard Capes Bag and Baggage — The Hamadryad (1913)

One September evening, in a year long past, a young man—an aurelian, to use the older and prettier term—came trudging over the downs to spend a ghostly vigil in Lamont. He carried in his pockets a dark lantern, a bottle of beer and sugar mixed, a brush, a nest of specimen boxes, and a little phial of chloroform, with a square or two of blotting-paper to finish. Such was the necessary paraphernalia of a moth-trapper by night, when the rarest and most beautiful species are to be secured.
Source: Wikisource

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