“I am not,” he replied sadly; and no more was said.
Chapter Forty Six.
Linny Awakes.
But those words “I am not,” made no little impression on me, and a day or two later, when I had taken Linny in some flowers, I was thinking very deeply about them, and perhaps my thoughts may have influenced the mind of the poor girl, for she suddenly laid her thin white hand upon my arm and said: “Antony, do you ever see Mr Lister now?”
“No,” I said; “I have never seen him since the day of that scene with Miss Carr.”
“Tell me about it—all about it,” she said sharply. I stared at her aghast, and tried to excuse myself, but her eyes looked at me so imploringly that I felt compelled, and related all that I had heard and seen.
She lay with her eyes half-closed during my recital, and when it was ended the poor, weak, wasted girl took one of my hands between both of hers, and held it to her breast, caressing it silently the while.
“Oh, Linny, dear,” I said, “what have I done! I ought not to have told you all this. You are going to be worse. Let me call Stephen!”