“There,” he said; “look now. Could there be a sweeter ideal of perfect repose? Good—good night, dear Cynthia, I am going to steal away without a word to a soul. I would not break in upon her rapturous calm; and the memory of her sweet face, as I see it now, will soothe me during the long watches of the peaceful night. Good night, Cynthia. Ah, you should have changed names. Yonder is Cynthia in all her calm silvery beauty. Good night, sweet sister—good night—good night.”
There was something very moonlike in his looks and ways as he softly stole from the room and out of the house, leaving Cynthia motionless with astonishment.
“I want to know,” she said to herself at last, “whether those two are really going to be married to-morrow, or whether it is only a dream. But there, I wash my hands of it all; I feel to-night as if I hate everybody—papa, mamma, Harry for not killing that horrible jelly-fish of a creature. Oh, he’s dreadful! And Julia, for letting herself be led as she is, when she might have married dear James Magnus, and been happy. No! poor girl, I must not blame her. She felt that she could not love him, and perhaps she is right.”
“Good night, Julia darling; I’m going to bed,” she whispered, and, seating herself by her sister, she clasped her waist, and placed her lips against her cheek.
“To bed? so soon?” said Julia, dreamily.
“Soon! It is past eleven. Will you come and sit with me in my room, or shall I come to you?”
Julia shook her head.
“Not to-night—not to-night,” she said softly; and she clasped her sister in her arms. “Good night, Cynthia dear. Think lovingly of me always when I am gone.”
“Lovingly, Julie, always,” whispered Cynthia; “always, dear sister.”
“Always—whatever comes?” whispered Julia.