"Put the letter away Louise, do," said Little Wolf, turning her face away with a heart truly sick.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A Crisis—pride and Folly.
For weeks Antoinette's letter lay in the drawer where Louise had hastily thrust it, and no one had read it to the end.
Mrs. Hawley's health, which had been feeble for a long time, rapidly declined after the news of her husband's death, and in a few days she took to her bed, and shortly after died. The sickness and death of a member of her family, combined with her own sufferings so absorbed the mind of Little Wolf, that at the time she thought of but little else. But when it was all over, and her arm had partially healed, she began to realize acutely the anomalous position in which the purpose she had formed placed her to Edward.
It is true he came every day, and always with words upon his lips that sent the hot blood to her cheek, and each time she strove in vain for courage to approach the subject upon which hung her destiny. It was no wonder that she thus halted; that her heart stood still at the bare possibility of losing its idol; for, orphaned and alone, beyond it she saw no light in her path; only fearful darkness like the shadows of death.
There had been no word of explanation, and Edward seemed to have forgotten that he had ever desired any, and he had settled into his former assurance. His mother had, of late, spoken to her confidentially of the time when, as Edward's wife it would be her pleasure to relieve her of all troublesome cares; and Little Wolf listened in silence and in agony. She longed to unbosom her feelings but restrained herself with the resolve that she would, without delay, make them known to Edward.