'
She preceded him down the staircase with the taper light in her
hand, looking unnaturally tall and thin in the long dove-coloured
dressing-gown she wore. She did not stop to think of the
propriety or otherwise of this midnight interview under such
circumstances. She thought that the tragedy of her life was
beginning, and, for the first time almost, felt that her existence
might have a grave side, the shade of which enveloped and rendered
invisible the delicate gradations of custom and punctilio.
Elfride softly opened the drawing-room door and they both went in.
When she had placed the candle on the table, he enclosed her with
his arms, dried her eyes with his handkerchief, and kissed their
lids.
'Stephen, it is over--happy love is over; and there is no more
sunshine now!'
'I will make a fortune, and come to you, and have you. Yes, I
will!'
'Papa will never hear of it--never--never! You don't know him. I
do. He is either biassed in favour of a thing, or prejudiced
against it. Argument is powerless against either feeling.'
'No; I won't think of him so,' said Stephen. 'If I appear before
him some time hence as a man of established name, he will accept
me--I know he will. He is not a wicked man.'
'No, he is not wicked. But you say "some time hence," as if it
were no time. To you, among bustle and excitement, it will be
comparatively a short time, perhaps; oh, to me, it will be its
real length trebled! Every summer will be a year--autumn a year--
winter a year! O Stephen! and you may forget me!'
Forget: that was, and is, the real sting of waiting to fond-
hearted woman.
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