"The room you would not take."
"The room in which Nora slept? Oh, no! I could not have slept a wink there. What a charm there was in that girl! how we all loved her! But she was too beautiful and good for us,—too good to live!"
"None of us are too good," said Mrs. Avenel, with great austerity, "and I beg you will not talk in that way. Goodnight,—I must get your poor father to bed."
When Leonard opened his eyes the next morning, they rested on the face of Mrs. Avenel, which was bending over his pillow. But it was long before he could recognize that countenance, so changed was its expression,—so tender, so mother-like. Nay, the face of his own mother had never seemed to him so soft with a mother's passion.
"Ah!" he murmured, half rising, and flinging his young arms round her neck. Mrs. Avenel, this time taken by surprise, warmly returned the embrace; she clasped him to her breast, she kissed him again and again. At length, with a quick start, she escaped, and walked up and down the room, pressing her hands tightly together. When she halted, her face had recovered its usual severity and cold precision.
"It is time for you to rise, Leonard," said she. "You will leave us to-day. A gentleman has promised to take charge of you, and do for you more than we can. A chaise will be at the door soon,—make haste."
John was absent from the breakfast-table. His wife said that he never rose till late, and must not be disturbed.
The meal was scarcely over before a chaise and pair came to the door.
"You must not keep the chaise waiting,—the gentleman is very punctual."
"But he is not come."