And, at last, ashen pale, in the wan morning light,
and with set teeth, he took his final oath and resolve. He would save
himself years of wretchedness by a month's anguish; he would not go near
her, nor see her again. He was not entirely selfish; he did not forget
that she might, nay, would suffer, but he said, with a sigh, "It will be
best for her as for me."
* * * * *
A month passed by: two months. Virginia grew pale, listless,
_distraite_; her step was languid, her eye haggard. She did not know how
to endure her life; she suffered torments day and night from an
agonising desire to hear the voice, to meet the eyes again which had
given light to her soul and in whose absence she felt it must needs
perish of want. It was plain enough to her why he avoided her. He had
seen that she loved him; he would not encourage false hopes in her
breast. Had she not been warned, ere ever she met him, that he abjured
marriage? She remembered, with a breaking heart, her own first playful
words to him.
Mr. Hayward saw the change in Virginia, but he put it down entirely to
the effects of a London season--to late hours and the want of fresh air.
Never mind! the end was near at hand, and then they would go and fill
their lungs with mountain air and their eyes with fair scenes, and the
roses would come back to her cheeks and lips, and the light to her eyes.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158