[CHAPTER XI.]
A CRUSHING SORROW.
"Till now thy soul hath been
All glad and gay;
Bid it arise and look
At grief to-day!
For now life's stream has reached
A deep, dark sea,
And sorrow, dim and crowned,
Is waiting thee."
Miss Carroll was sorry for the young fireman, as she saw how pale and troubled his handsome face became at her tidings.
She exclaimed, sympathetically:
"Maybe Geraldine will get over her anger and write to me yet. She never stays angry long at a time. So, if she writes, I'll let you know."
"Thank you, a hundred times over," gratefully, "and may I call on you sometimes, to inquire?"
"Certainly," replied Cissy, who liked him as much as she had despised the actor. Almost every one has antipathies. The actor was one of Cissy's, no doubt.
Harry Hawthorne thanked her for her courtesy, paid for his gloves, and walked away with such a princely air that all the pretty salesgirls followed his exit with admiring eyes, and there was a swelling murmur of ejaculations:
"Oh, what a handsome fellow!"