She half playfully pointed to a chair, and once more took Richard’s hand between both hers, listening to him as he tried to talk cheerfully, not so much of the past as of trips to come, till, meeting her eyes, and seeing in them the sad, reproachful gaze of one who said “Why this deceit?” his voice grew husky, and he was silent.
“What’s that?” said Netta, suddenly, as she heard steps below. “Oh, mamma, you have sent for him again—why did you?”
There was tender love in the reproachful smile—one which faded as the doctor entered, and Richard gave up his place to him.
He made but a brief stay, and was followed out of the room by Mrs Lane.
“Sit down again, Richard,” said the girl, fondly. “Take those,” she said, pointing to a pair of scissors on the table. “Now cut off that long piece of hair.”
As she spoke she separated a long, dark brown tress and smilingly bent towards him as he divided it from her head.
“There,” she said, smiling, as she knotted it together like so much silk; “give that to Tiny—some day—and tell her it was sent by one who had prayed night and day for her happiness and yours.”
“Oh, my poor child!” groaned Richard, as he placed her gift in his pocket-book.
“And, Richard, when you are happy together, talk about me sometimes; you’ll bring her to see where they have laid me—where I lie asleep?”
“For God’s sake, do not talk like this, my darling!” he exclaimed; “I cannot bear it!”