‘Am I to have nothing? Am I to be sent away without so much as a clasp of the hand?’
She had vanished from the window, and for a moment he stood holding his breath; would she come down to him—would she meet him at the door?
‘She will not come,’ he said to himself; and once more went on his way, staggering blindly forward, with his head sunk upon his breast.
Had he looked back again he might have seen her creep to the window and kneel by it, straining her eyes through streaming tears.
Poor Rosalie! Poor Beauty! Did she wake at last only to look upon the vanishing form of her Prince?
* * *
Later in the day Isaac Sharpe came to Littlecomb in great perturbation of mind. He found Rosalie lying on the couch in the parlour, the blind being drawn down—she had a headache, she said.
‘Dear heart alive!’ said Isaac, sitting down, a hand on either knee. ‘Everything d’ seem to be goin’ wrong this day! Here’s my nevvy gone off wi’ himself!’
‘Gone?’ echoed Rosalie, faintly, turning her face to the wall.