“Always a kind, good friend,” said Mrs Glaire, whose voice shook a little as she looked at the gifts. “Make Richard think better of him, Eve, for he is a true, good friend.”
Eve did not answer, for her hand was upon her breast, and beneath that hand she could feel the paper. Her great dread was that Richard should come back, and she prayed that he might not return.
Ten o’clock sounded, and then eleven, from the little pendule on the chimney-piece, and still he did not come; and Mrs Glaire, noticing the poor girl’s agitation, proposed rest.
“I will sit up for Dick, Eve,” she said, cheerfully. “He is preparing some surprise;” but, as soon as her niece had kissed her lovingly, and left the room, a haggard look came over the mother’s countenance, and she knelt down for a few moments beside the couch.
She started up, though, for she heard her son’s step in the hall, and he entered directly, looking hot and flushed.
“Where’s Evey?” he asked.
“Gone to bed, my boy,” replied Mrs Glaire. “Dick, you should have stayed at home to-night.”
“Oh, all right,” he said, lightly, and with a bitter sneer; “it’s the last night, and I thought I might have a run.”
“I’m not blaming you, dear,” said Mrs Glaire, kissing his forehead; “only poor Eve looked so sad and ill to-night.”
Had she seen her then, she would have cried out in fear, for, with an open paper in her hand, Eve was pacing up and down her room, to throw herself at last upon her knees in agony, and after many hours sob herself to sleep.