“Impossible! I must see him, if but for a moment! I—I—have not seen him for over six months—think, girl, of that—what a weary time!”
“Yes! it has been a weary time—and I know what a weary time means!” sighed her maid.
“But the messages! Quick! Speak! Tell me what they are! I must have them! Alice, you torture me!” and Gwendoline stood before her, clasping and unclasping her hands in restless impatience.
At that moment a knock sounded upon the door. She flew to it herself, for some undefined instinct told her that it concerned the dearest wish of her heart. True, for a note was put into her hands—only a few words, asking when he might come.
“I will send an answer,” she said, and the door was shut.
She went to a desk, standing against the wall, and, turning over its contents, dashed off a few hasty words, folded and directed the note, looked up and met the eyes of her maid, who stood before her.
“Do not send it, Miss Gwendoline, do not bid him come, I implore you!”
“I shall not heed you, Alice. I must see him!”
“Oh!” cried the girl, approaching her, “listen to me—it is wrong—wrong! I beg you to say him nay. What will you gain by it? Say him nay, oh! say him nay!”
“Again I tell you I must see him!” and she started from her chair with an impatient gesture.