Dr. Grey bent over her, and said,—
“I came here in quest of you, hoping to persuade you to return to the house.”
“No. You came to tell me that Elsie is dead. You came to break the news as gently as possible,—and to pity and try to comfort me. You are very good, I dare say; but I wish to be alone.”
“You have been too long alone, and I can not consent to leave you here.”
At the sound of his subdued voice, she turned her face towards him, and, for a moment,—
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“A strange slow smile grew into her eyes, As though from a great way off it came And was weary ere down to her lips it fluttered, And turned into a sigh, or some soft name Whose syllables sounded likest sighs Half-smothered in sorrow before they were uttered.” |
“Dr. Grey, my loneliness transcends all parallels, and is beyond remedy. Why should I not stay here? All places are alike to me, now. That cold, silent corpse at the house, is not Elsie; and, since she has been taken, I shall be utterly alone, go where I may.”
She shivered, and he picked up a crape shawl lying in a heap under the table, and wrapped it around her. The soft folds were damp, and, as he lifted the veil of hair, to draw the shawl closer about her shoulders and throat, he felt that it was moist from the humid atmosphere.
“Sir, I am not cold,—I wish I were. It is useless to wrap up my body so warmly, and leave my heart shivering until death freezes it utterly.”