"The father is going away," said Christopher; "and the daughter is in tears."
There were hurried good-byes in French, called out amid the rolling of wheels, the door shut, and footsteps went up the stairs. Anthony and the little apothecary looked at each other, for the steps were heavy and stumbling.
"That is the father," said Christopher. "I know his foot. It is the girl, then, who has gone away."
"It would seem so," said Anthony.
"And the chest and the tears at parting tell of a long journey," said the apothecary. "And it must be an urgent one, to be undertaken at this hour."
Anthony said little; it was almost eleven by the clock on the apothecary's wall, and he arose to go.
"You are in low spirits," said Christopher.
"My star is swinging downward, I fear," said Anthony, with the ghost of a smile. "But when it is at its lowest, Christopher, it will begin to curve upward."
"If you knew her better," said Christopher, his hand on Anthony's sleeve; "or if she knew you better—"
"She has shown plainly enough that she has no desire for that," said Anthony. "Good night."