At last, when I had been pacing like a restless tiger, and twilight was coming, I sank into my chair overcome with the strain.
I did not mean to feel the drivel of self pity, but it is a ghastly thing to be all alone and anxious, when everyone else is shouting for joy.
I was staring into the fire. I had not had the lights lit on purpose. I wanted the soft shadows to soothe me. Burton had gone down again to the concierge.
A bitterness and a melancholy I cannot describe was holding me. Of what good my leg and my eye if I am to suffer torment once more? A sense of forsakenness held me. Perhaps I dozed, because I was worn out, when suddenly I was conscious of a closing door, and opening my eye, I saw that Alathea stood before me.
A log fell and blazed brightly, and I could see that her face was greatly moved.
"I am so sorry if you have been anxious.—Burton says you have. I would have been back earlier but I was caught in the crowd."
I reached out and turned on the lamp near me, and when she saw my eye and leg, she fell upon her knees at my side.
"Oh! Nicholas," she cried brokenly, and I put out my hand and took her hand.
| * | * | * | * | * |
What a thing is joy!