“If you only knew how dull we are without you! How heavily the day drags on even with the occupations you take no share in; how we miss your steps on the stairs and your voice in the garden, and that merry laugh that sets ourselves a-laughing just by its own ring.”
“And you would miss me, then?” said he, as he pushed the hair from her temples, and stared steadfastly at her face,—“you would miss me?”
“It would only be half life without you,” cried she, passionately.
“So much the worse,—so much the worse!” muttered he; and he turned away, and drew his hand across his eyes. “This life of ours, Fifine, is a huge battle-field; and though the comrades fall fast around him, the brave soldier will fight on to the last.”
“You don't want a dress-coat, brother Peter, to dine with Withering, so I have just put up what will serve you for three days, or four, at furthest,” said Dinah, entering. “What will be the extent of your stay?”
“Let me have a black coat, Dinah; there 's no saying what great man may not ask for my company; and it might be a week before I get back again.”
“There's no necessity it should be anything of the kind, Peter; and with your habits an hotel life is scarcely an economy. Come, Fifine, get to bed, child. You'll have to be up at daybreak. Your grandpapa won't think his coffee drinkable, if it is not made by your hands.”
And with this remark, beautifully balanced between a reproof and a flattery, she proceeded to blow out the candles, which was her accustomed mode of sending her company to their rooms.