She tried to withdraw her hand, biting her lips, setting them tightly, in her battle for calmness and her old hauteur and indifference; but he held the small hand firmly, felt it quiver and tremble, saw the violet eyes raised to his with a troubled wonder in them; and her name sprang to his lips: "Ida!"

While I was yet ten or twelve paces from him, I saw his hand quiver, and sprang to one side as the blade flashed past my head.

The old text "Blessed is he that hath his quiver full of them" has ceased to have any use or application.

Oh, Julia, could you shake hands with me, just to show me you know how I despise myself?" Julia shook hands considerably less like a slug or a limpet than usual, and something very queer and unexpected happened when her hand met poor Kitty's wet, feverish little paw and she heard the quiver in her voice.

But even as she watched with all her spirit a-quiver with the wonder of it, the vision passed; the star was veiled.

The Chinese, always great sticklers for politeness, used to insist in early times that a warrior should not take advantage of his enemy when the latter had emptied his quiver, but wait for him to pick up his arrows before going on with the fight.

Over his shoulders was slung a stout bow of yew, and across his back hung a quiver of good round arrows.

But now, even as they stood thus, out of the green came a cry, hoarse at first but rising ever higher until it seemed to fill the world about and set the very leaves a-quiver.

She was not nourishing alone: the sap of April was dilating the land, sending a quiver through the woods, raising the long herbage which embowered her.

Two hundred pairs of eyes were fastened with hawklike intensity upon him, and they could perceive no quiver of his hand.

"What dost thou ail, sweet Aspen, say, Why do thy leaflets quiver?" "'Twas long ago," the Aspen sighed How long is past my knowing

The long dark lashes swept her cheek; her lips set tightly to repress the quiver which threatened them; but when he had completely broken down, she raised her eyes to his with a look so grave, so sweet, so girlish, that Stafford's heart leapt, not for the first time that morning, and there flashed through him the unexpected thought: "What would not a man give to have those eyes turned upon him with love shining in their depths!"

Whether it was that for the first time in all his wonderful career he realised that the "System" was to meet its Nemesis, or what the cause, none could tell, perhaps not even Barry Conant himself, but some emotion caused his olive face for an instant to turn pale, and gave his voice a tell-tale quiver.

Now, glancing up, scarce breathing, Beltane beheld the nun who crouched down against the wall, her staring eyes turned towards the door, her cheeks ashen, her lips a-quiver with deadly fear.

he asked, a quiver of cunning intelligence making his stony mask quiver.

One detected an appealing quiver on her lips, and noted, or imagined, a suspicious brightness beneath the long dark lashes that swiftly screened her eyes.

The name was the merest whisper and held a quiver of fear.

"And then something shot down by mesomething heavy, and stood a-quiver in the planks.

" "And what of Giles?" "He is away to get him arrows to fill his quiver, and to fill his purse with what he may, for the dead lie thick in the road yonder, and there is much plunder.

He saw her struggling to control herself, to stop the quivering of her lip, the tremble in her voice.

As they approached, a thrill of lightness and uncertainty was setting her limbs a-quiver.

Nobodynobody," Miss Hugonin lamented, a forlorn little quiver in her voice, "ever seemed to be honest with me except you, and now I know you weren't.

He leaned forward quivering, free from his spell of reflection, and his words came pelting like hail.

In such moments, the phrases that leap to their lips quiver and glow with the compressed significance of character and situation; the 'Qui te l'a dit?' of Hermione, the 'Sortez' of Roxane, the 'Je vais à Rome' of Mithridate, the 'Dieu des Juifs, tu l'emportes!' of Athaliewho can forget these things, these wondrous microcosms of tragedy?

Fair Phyllis's gold lashes demurely cast down, Her face in sweet doubt 'twixt a smile and a frown, A venturesome rosebud o'ertopping the rest Now lies all a-quiver upon her white breast, The curves of her neck Man's vow often wreck, She has the whole world at her call and her beck.