And now, what so chilly as the fire that has gone out! Gone out long
ago, dear Grizel, while you crouched over it. You may put your hand in
the ashes; they will not burn you now. Ah, Grizel, why do you sit
there in the cold?
The day of the letter! It began in dread, but ended so joyfully, do
you think Grizel grudged the dread? It became dear to her; she loved
to return to it and gaze at the joy it glorified, as one sees the
sunshine from a murky room. When she heard the postman's knock she was
not even curious; so few letters came to her, she thought this must be
Maggy Ann's monthly one from Aberdeen, and went on placidly dusting.
At last she lifted it from the floor, for it had been slipped beneath
the door, and then Grizel was standing in her little lobby, panting as
if at the end of a race. The letter lay in both her hands, and they
rose slowly until they were pressed against her breast.
She uttered some faint cries (it was the only moment in which I have
known Grizel to be hysterical), and then she ran to her room and
locked herself in--herself and it. Do you know why that look of
elation had come suddenly to her face? It was because he had not even
written the address in a disguised hand to deceive the postmistress.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290