"Very well, then; listen: I am absolutely sure of it," Margaret answered.
"Sure that I shall stop caring so much? stop feeling so dreadfully?"
"Yes, sure."
"But when will it begin?" the girl demanded, shaken with fresh sobs; she leaned down as she spoke, pressing her hands on Margaret's shoulders and looking at her insistently, as if she would draw from her by force a comforting reply.
"To-morrow, perhaps," said Margaret, answering her almost as one answers a suffering child.
"Well—you mustn't leave me."
"I won't leave you to-night at least."
This gave Garda some slight solace, she sat down and rested her head on Margaret's shoulder. "He was buried in Venice—on that island, you know. Margaret, I want to go down to East Angels to-morrow, mamma is there; do you remember dear little mamma?"
But this quiet did not last long. Suddenly she sprang up again, and began walking about the room, clinching her hands.
Margaret went to her.