“She is better to-day than I feared I should find her, as some alarming symptoms threatened her yesterday; but now I think I can safely say the danger has entirely passed.”
Muriel hung over the back of his chair, pressing him to try several dishes that she pronounced excellent, but he gently refused all except the coffee; and, when he had pushed aside the empty cup, he drew the face of his ward close to his own, and murmured a few words that deepened the glow on her fair cheeks, while she hastily left the room to read a letter.
For some moments he sat with his head resting on his hand, thinking of the dear old face that usually watched him from the corner of the fire-place, and of the kind words that were showered on him while he breakfasted; but to-day the faded lips were frozen forever, and the dim eyes would never again brighten at his approach.
He sighed, brushed back the hair that clustered in glossy brown rings on his forehead, and rose.
“Salome, if you are not particularly engaged this morning, I should be glad to see you in the library.”
“At what hour?”
“Immediately, if you are at leisure.”
The orphan put aside the fold of crape which she was converting into a collar, and inclined her head slightly.
Since that brief and painful interview held beside Miss Jane’s coffin, not a syllable had passed between them, and the girl shrank with a vague, shivering dread from the impending tête-à-tête.