“I will be in the neighborhood for a few days,” Garven said as he bade Miss Miranda good-by. “If there is anything I can do for you, my dear, be sure to send for me. And if he should remember—”
“No,” she returned, shaking her head, “I will not hope any longer. We have tried and failed and the affair must be forgotten. It is all over.”
David went away with them to the train and Miss Miranda returned to her father. Betsey stood at the door, watching as long as she could as they went down the hill.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed out loud at last, “oh, dear!”
Hope had been so high that morning and now it was quite dead. There came also over her a sudden cold memory of something she had been glad to forget. To-morrow were the examinations!
She wandered disconsolately about the house, finding it very empty. Michael was not in the garden, Mrs. Bassett had gone on some errand, so that even the kitchen was tenantless and quite silent save for the clock ticking on the wall. She sighed again as she glanced up at it.
“Such a long day,” she lamented, “and there are hours of it left!”
Very slowly she went upstairs at last. She did not wish to disturb Miss Miranda, but she was too miserable and lonely to stay longer by herself. The sick-room door was open as she stole past, so that she could see within the nurse alone beside the bed. Miss Miranda must be in the sitting room, busy with her knitting or some work that would comfort her a little.
But Miss Miranda was not knitting. She was seated before the old mahogany desk as Betsey entered, she had opened the glass doors wide and was setting the whole contents of the shelves on the flat space before her.
“I was hoping you would soon come upstairs,” she said to Elizabeth. “Have I ever shown you this silver ball that came from India or told you the story that was brought with it?”