No one could have sat by Laura’s side for an instant without remarking her extreme agitation; and as Charley turned to gaze in her pleading face, he felt something like pity warming his breast towards her—her agitation was so genuine, and she had shown him the night before how earnest and passionate was her love.
Pity is said to be very nearly akin to love, and Charley’s pity was growing stronger. Why should he not take the good the gods provided him? She asked no more. But no; there was that one great proof wanted; and his words were quite cold and commonplace as he said to her, “You seem unwell. Do you not think it would be better to return home? Why, this poor little hand is quite chilly, and you shiver. You must have taken cold last night.”
“Cold? Last night? No, no,” she said hoarsely; and he felt the pressure upon his hand tighten. “We must meet Nelly, and I am quite well, Charley. I never felt more happy.”
He encountered her glance, but it awoke no response in his breast; and as he read her countenance, he saw there the tokens of a terrible agitation, and surely he may be excused for imagining himself the cause.
“At last!” said Charley impatiently, as he handed Laura out, trembling violently; but the next moment, though she was deathly pale, the agitation seemed to have passed away, and taking his arm, she held to it tightly.
“Ten minutes too soon,” said Charley. “Shall we go round to the waiting-room?”
“Yes, please,” cried Laura eagerly; and walking round, he stopped to read a waybill.
“Let me see,” he said; “this train leaves first. Ours comes in five minutes after.”
“Take me into the waiting-room,” said Laura anxiously. “It is cold out here.”
“I fear that you are going to be unwell,” he said, attending to her request.