He saw the change which had come over her face, and reproached himself for his carelessness in having chosen so sad a tale; but the truth was, in his absorption, he had not the slightest idea of what he was reading, his voice sounded in his own ears mechanical, and as if it belonged to some other person.
He went to the table to make a more fortunate selection.
"Here is a volume of parodies," he said, "shall I try those?"
"Anything; I don't care."
He commenced a mischievous travestie of a poem, but though it was wittily done, its lightness jarred so terribly on both reader and listener that it was speedily thrown aside. For some time they remained in gloomy silence, then Elsie began to moan and move restlessly about, then Mellen tried to rouse himself and be cheerful again.
The afternoon passed very much in the same way. At last Elsie declared that she would sleep awhile.
"Anything to wear away the time!" she said.
Mellen wondered if he should ever find anything that would shorten the hours to him, but he held his peace.
"I have such an odd, horrible feeling," said Elsie; "just as if I were waiting anxiously for something—every instant expecting it."
"That is because you are nervous."