CHAPTER XXVIII.
HIS LOVE.
His is the love that only lives,
While the cheek is fresh and red;
His is the love that only thrives,
Where the pleasure feast is spread.—Eliza Cook.
Although that little paper furnished a proof that Alexander Lyon was as free from marriage-bonds as he wished to be, yet it would have been better for his own purpose for him to have burned it at once.
But with that strange unwillingness which some people feel to destroy even a dangerous document, he carefully folded it up and put it into his little looking-glass drawer.
Then he went into the next chamber and spoke to Pina, who was still watching by her mistress’s bed.
“Has she moved?” he asked.
“Oh no, sir, she sleeps very sound,” answered the girl.