He never tries to combat her resolution—to slay the foe that is desolating his life and hers. He submits to cruel fate without a murmur.
"Put your face to mine," she says, so faintly that he can hardly hear her; and then once more he holds her in his arms, and presses her against his heart.
How long she lies there neither of them ever knows; but presently, with a sigh, she comes back to the sad present, and lifts her head, and looks mournfully upon the quiet earth.
And even as she looks the day breaks at last with a rush, and the red sunshine, coming up from the unknown, floods all the world with beauty.
CHAPTER XVI.
"The quarrel is a very pretty quarrel as it stands."
—The Rivals.
It is two days later. Everyone you know is in the drawing-room at the Court—that is, everyone except Dulce. But presently the door opens, and that stormy young person enters, with her sleeves tucked up and a huge apron over her pretty cashmere gown, that simply envelops her in its folds.
"I am going to make jam" she says, unmistakable pride in her tone. She is looking hopelessly conceited, and is plainly bent on posing as one of the most remarkable housekeepers on record—as really, perhaps, she is.