“A stone! they think I am a stone!” she repeated softly to herself, and she remained leaning against the door-post and sobbed inaudibly, disconsolate at the thought that she could not comfort Otto. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned almost haughty at being thus misjudged. But when she saw his sorrowful face; those moist eyes, in which, for the first time, she beheld tears; [[229]]when she saw those lips trembling under his moustache, and the deep furrows over his brow, she flung herself, brimming over with pity, on his bosom, and clasping him tightly in her arms, covered his face with burning, passionate kisses.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Vincent was busy packing, for the next day he would be leaving for London. Henk tried to make him alter his mind and stay, but only half-heartedly, for he felt well enough that when Vincent was once away, a great obstacle to the peace of the house would be removed, and Betsy would no longer be irritated by the presence of a cousin whom she hated, whom she feared, and whom in her fear of him she had nurtured and tended until she abhorred him. In the morning before his departure Vincent had a last chat with Eline in her boudoir.
“Then you are going, really?” she asked.
“Certainly, my dear girl. You can see for yourself that Betsy can’t bear me any longer.”
“What are you going to do in London?”
“I have to call on some acquaintances there—to arrange some money matters before I go to America.”
“Are you going to America, then?”
“You know I am; haven’t you yourself brought me St. Clare’s letter?”