Her scarlet cheeks and lips, her glowing brown eyes, and waving yellow hair, formed a singular contrast to the colorless, cold face of her listener; whose steely gaze was fixed on the distant sea, that lay like a beryl mirror beneath the hazy sky.
When the sound of the sweet but strained voice had died away, Mrs. Gerome turned her eyes towards the governess, and answered,—
“I will do my duty, no matter how revolting.”
“Thank God! When will you go?”
“If at all, at once.”
“Evelyn, when you come home, will you not let me see you, now and then, and win my way back to my old place in your dear heart? Oh! my pale, peerless darling, do not deny me this.”
“Home? I have no home. My heart is grayer than my head,—and your old niche is full of dust, and skeletons, and murdered hopes. Let me see you no more in this world; and perhaps in the Everlasting Rest I shall forget my hideous past, which your face recalls.”
“Oh, my poor bruised darling! do not banish me,” wailed the governess, endeavoring to fold her arms about the queenly form, which silently but effectually held her back.
“At least, dear Evelyn, let me kiss you once more, in token that you cherish no bitterness against me.”
“Good-by, Edith. I hold you innocent of my injuries. May God help you, and call us both speedily to our dreamless sleep under moss and marble.”