He was removing a chair from the gallery and closing the Venetian blinds, and she could not see his face. Hoping to receive some friendly look, which she was painfully aware she did not deserve, she loitered till he turned around.
“Salome, have you a light in your room?”
“I do not know, but suppose so.”
“There are two candles in the library, and you had better take one, rather than stumble along in the dark and wake everybody.”
He brought out one, and handed it to her.
“Thank you. Good-night, Dr. Grey.”
“Good-night, Salome.”
The candle-light showed no displeasure in his countenance, which was calm as usual, and there was not a hint of harshness in his unwontedly low voice; but she read disappointment in his grave, kind eyes. She knew that she could not sleep until she had made her peace with him; and, though it cost her a great effort to conquer her pride, she said, humbly,—
“‘And if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and 162 seven times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent,—thou shalt forgive him.’”
“Yes; but the frequency of the offence renders it difficult to believe the repentance genuine.”