Robert Orange

ed for dinner, she stole away to the further room, where she could play the piano, write letters, muse over novels, or indulge in

ng to the dancing Hours (a charming group, and considered very cheerful), could not relieve her woe. She cried long and bitterly, and was on the verge of hysterics when the door opened and her most intimate woman friend, the Viscountess Fitz Rewes, was announced. This bewitching creature-who was a widow, with two long flaxen curls, a sweet fig

hey had paid, the visits they would have to pay, and the

f a particularly nice person. She is a foreigner-an archduchess really. Her father made a morganatic marriage. I am so glad they don't have morganatic marriage

said Sara, who w

ted suicide in the end. And now-she

is

may as well know. He was a sort of brother, yet much more. One didn't meet him often in

er wan face w

y from home. He said-'I gather chestnuts and feel lonely.' And I asked my little girl what she did, and she said-'I cry till you come back ag

hink so?"

ony and separation were over, Simon Peter said to the disciples, I go a fishing. H

said Sara

o injure. I have a wish to be free from distress, and enjoy life. As if we were born to be happy!

nse

er. If I didn't mention him to you, or to other people, I

"you have a heart of crystal. N

her heart! You misunderstand me wilfully. I like prayer at all times, because it is a help and

to dwell among them and to die most cruelly for their sakes, is it to be expected that they will not-and who will dare say that they should n

more," replied Pensée, who looked, however, n

g to say. I have to escape and be miserable all alone. He is my thought all day: the last before I sleep, the first when I awake. I could cry and cry and cry. I try to read, and I remember not a word. I like playing best, for then I can almost imagine that he is listening. But when I stop playing and look round, I find myself in an empty room. It is awful. I call his name; no one answers. I whisper it; sti

, was shaking like some sma

ought not to say. You must be quieter. You won't be happ

one," said Sara bitterly. "I

in her chair. What stroke of fate, she wondered, had overtaken the poor girl? Was she sane? Was she herself? Pensée found some relief in the thought that Sar

e in my blood," said Sara;

g have you for Marsh

erly. And I will be a good wife to him. If I say s

ur, Sara. Is the other man qui

ui

ps he does

ther entertaining. It never went deeper than that. I s

en a man's affections are really

ilent, cold-blooded way, to the bright particular star. I envy you, Pensée; you, at

was

ough to understand him. When he died, I cried for half a day and seven nigh

s other one ..

other time, when we are all very old ..

nsée, "don't say that! You are mak

love-how sure, how happy she could be! I could work, and starve, and lay down my life for a man like that. If he had loved me, I think I could have been almost a good woman, a downright good one, a Saint Elizabeth of Hungary. But you

l. That's a great outlet for emotion. And your languages-why not work an hour a day each at

play for. As for languages-I cannot talk alone. And as for re

or others,

own sufferings, and enjoy my own enjoyments. This living for others is absurd. I hate second-ha

ou will see it in the marriage notice the

s which she wore round her throat suddenly broke, and

hered the scattered necklace between them. "Dear me! I was never more surprised-never; a

id Pensée, ful

should be missing. But they were all there

u have been so frank with me. The one I ... love is Beauclerk Reckage." As

some hope after all! There is, there must be! Beauclerk! He

ad heard a distant murmuring but not their w

ng. I am very glad that you called ... ve

, pa

pretty song she sang for us when we all dined to

a glimpse of her white, agonised countenance a

id Lord Garrow, horrib

ed Lady Fitz Rewes gr

o see in his regard-forbade any reference to the subject. He conducted her to her carriage, wished her "Goodbye" in his Court manner, and led her to understand