Paula recoiled in horror. “Sarah!” said she, and could say no more. The vision of that tall form gliding through the desolate house at midnight, bending over the soulless finery of his dead wife, perhaps stowing it away in boxes, came with too powerful a suggestion to her mind.
“Shure, I thought you would be pleased,” murmured the girl and disappeared again into one of the dim recesses.
“Will he let me go without a word?”
“Miss Paula, Mr. Bertram Sylvester is waiting at the door in a carriage,” came in low respectful tones to her ears, and Samuel’s face full of regret appeared at the top of the stairs.
“I am coming,” murmured the sad-hearted girl, and with a sob which she could not control, she took her last look of the pretty pink chamber in which she had dreamed so many dreams of youthful delight, and perhaps of youthful sorrow also, and slowly descended the stairs. Suddenly as she was passing a door on the second floor, she heard a low deep cry.
“Paula!”
She stopped and her hand went to her heart, the reaction was so sudden. “Yes,” she murmured, standing still with great heart-beats of joy, or was it pain?
The door slowly opened. “Did you think I could let you go without a blessing, my Paula, my little one!” came in those deep heart-tones which always made her tears start. And Mr. Sylvester stepped out of the shadows beyond and stood in the shadows at her side.
“I did not know,” she murmured. “I am so young, so feeble, such a mote in this great atmosphere of anguish. I longed to see you, to say good-bye, to thank you, but—” tears stopped her words; this was a parting that rent her tender heart.
Mr. Sylvester watched her and his deep chest rose spasmodically. “Paula,” said he, and there was a depth in his tone even she had never heard before, “are these tears for me?”