“Good night, dear Alick,” she answered, turning sadly away.
She went to her own room and set the candle on the mantle-piece, sank into her easy chair, and lapsed into sorrowful thought.
“He said he was not angry with me; yes, he said so; but he never told me why he left my room, and he never even opened the door to speak to me, nor yet kissed me good night. No, he is not angry with me; not angry, but sick and tired of me, as I might have known he would be; for what am I to please him who has been used to ladies of the highest rank and culture? Yes, he is sick and tired of me, and it is not his fault—it is mine; and I wish, oh, I wish, it were no sin to die!”
And she dropped her head upon the arm of her chair and wept bitterly; wept till she was so exhausted that she slipped from the chair to the carpet, and, grovelling there, wept on.
Her tears like her grief, seemed inexhaustible; for, when the daylight dawned and the sun rose, she was still lying where she had sunk overcome with sorrow.
At length when the morning was well advanced, she remembered her housewifely duties, and slowly got up and rang the bell for her maid.
Then, lest her evening dress should excite the girl’s curiosity, as it did on a former occasion, she quickly took it off and threw around her a chamber wrapper.
Pina came in and put fresh logs on the fire, and filled the ewers, and laid out clean towels, and then stood waiting.
“There is nothing more, Pina; you may go,” said her mistress.
And the maid left the room.