“No, no!” cried she, aloud, shrinking from the dark and evil thoughts that came gliding into her soul; “no, no, I will not think of it! It would drive me mad!”
It was past midnight when Louis returned, and the light still burned in Mittie’s chamber. The moment she heard his step on the flag-stones, she sprang to the window and opened it. The cold night air blew chill on her feverish and burning face, but she heeded it not.
“Louis,” she said, “wait. I will come down and open the door.”
“It is not fastened,” he replied; “it is not likely that I am barred out also. Go to bed, Mittie—for Heaven’s sake, go to bed.”
But, throwing off her slippers, she flew down stairs, the carpet muffling the sound of her footsteps, and met her brother on the threshold.
“Why will you do this, Mittie?” cried he, impatiently. “Do go back—I am cold and weary, and want to go to bed.”
“Only tell me one thing—have you no message for me?”
“None.”
“When does he go away?”
“I don’t know. But one thing I can tell you; if you value your peace and happiness, let not your heart anchor its hopes on him. Look upon all that is past as mere gallantry on his side, and the natural drawing of youth to youth on yours. Come this way,” drawing her into the sitting-room, where the dying embers still communicated warmth to the apartment, and shed a dim, lurid light on their faces. “Though my head aches as if red-hot wires were passing through it, I must guard you at once against this folly. You know so little of the world, Mittie, you don’t understand the manners of young men, especially when first released from college. There is a chivalry about them which converts every young lady into an angel, and they address them as such. Their attentions seldom admit a more serious construction. Besides—but no matter—I have said enough, I hope, to rouse the pride of your sex, and to induce you to banish Clinton from your thoughts. Good-night.”