'It is half-past eight,' she said in a low voice, which had a
peculiar music in it, seemingly born of a thrill of pleasure at
the new proof that she was beloved.
The flame dwindled down, died away, and all was wrapped in a
darkness to which the gloom before the illumination bore no
comparison in apparent density. Stephen, shattered in spirit and
sick to his heart's centre, turned away. In turning, he saw a
shadowy outline behind the summer-house on the other side. His
eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Was the form a human form,
or was it an opaque bush of juniper?
The lovers arose, brushed against the laurestines, and pursued
their way to the house. The indistinct figure had moved, and now
passed across Smith's front. So completely enveloped was the
person, that it was impossible to discern him or her any more than
as a shape. The shape glided noiselessly on.
Stephen stepped forward, fearing any mischief was intended to the
other two. 'Who are you?' he said.
'Never mind who I am,' answered a weak whisper from the enveloping
folds. 'WHAT I am, may she be! Perhaps I knew well--ah, so well!--
a youth whose place you took, as he there now takes yours. Will
you let her break your heart, and bring you to an untimely grave,
as she did the one before you?'
'You are Mrs. Jethway, I think. What do you do here? And why do
you talk so wildly?'
'Because my heart is desolate, and nobody cares about it.
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