Months ago she had read the same sweet story in his eyes, but how sweeter
far it was to have heard it from his lips.
She had sometimes wondered that he held his peace so long, and again had
doubted the language of his looks, but now those doubts were set at rest,
and their next interview was anticipated with a strange flutter of the
heart, a longing for, yet half shrinking from the words he might have to
speak.
But the day passed and he did not come; another and another, and no word
from him. How strange! he was still her preceptor in her art studies; did
he not know that she was well enough to resume them? If not, was it not
his place to inquire?
Perhaps he was ill. Oh, had he risked his health, perhaps his life in
saving hers? She did not ask; her lips refused to speak his name, and
would nobody tell her?
At last she overheard her father saying to Eddie, "What has become of
Lester Leland? It strikes me as a little ungallant that he has not been in
to inquire after the health of your aunt and sister."
"He has gone away," Eddie answered, "he left the morning after the
accident.
Pages:
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331