"I do believe none."
"You are cold, not cruel. I would rather know the truth. Yes! I would hide it forever; I will not even speak of it to you."
"Even from yourself hide it, if it must be hidden at all. And yet, I always think that a hidden sorrow is the best companion we can have."
"I am very selfish. I know that if Miss Lawrence finds out I am with you, you will not like it. You had better let me go downstairs."
"I will go myself, if you prefer to be alone; but you must not move."
"I must move,—I will not be found here; I had quite forgotten that. I will go this moment."
I did not dream of her actually departing; but before I could remonstrate further, she had planted herself lightly upon the carpet, and looked as well as usual: it was nothing extraordinary to see her pale. She smoothed her long hair at my glass, and arranged her dress; she shook hands with me afterwards also, and then she left the room.
CHAPTER XVI.
I was really alone now, but had a variety of worrying thoughts, hunting each other to death, but reproducing each other by thousands. I was irate with Laura, though I felt very sad, but of all most vexed that such an incident should have befallen my experience on that crown of days. The awful power of a single soul struggled, in my apprehension, with the vain weakness of a single heart. But more overpowering than either was the sensation connecting the two. It was a remembrance that I, too, might be called to suffer.