“In New York.”
It was very much to the point. Yet both of them wanted to say so much more; and neither of them dared!
“Miss Hope!” whispered Abel.
Hope heard the musical whisper. She perceived the audacity of the familiarity, but she did not wish it were otherwise. She bent her head a little lower, as if listening more intently.
“May I see you before I go?”
Hope was silent. Dr. Livingstone relates that when the lion had struck him with his paw, upon a certain occasion, he lay in a kind of paralysis, of which he would have been cured in a moment more by being devoured.
“Hope,” said Mrs. Simcoe, “the horses will be brought up. We had better walk home. Here, my dear!”
“I can only see you at home,” Hope said, in a low voice, as she rose.
“Then we part here forever,” he replied. “I am sorry.”
Still there was no reproach; it was only a deep sadness which softened that musical voice.