Without giving him time for any answering benediction—as, indeed, why should he bless her?—she breaks into a stumbling run, which carries her blindly on, till at the curve which will finally hide him from her sight, the curve whose distance from him guarantees her safety, the dully raging passion within her arrests her feet, and turns her head to see once more in crowning farewell torment the figure, in loosely hanging clothes, of him whom she has ironically helped back to life only to make him taste the sharpness of death.
* * * * *
“But I told you to say that I was not at home to any one?”
“I did say so, ’m.”
“It is not eleven o’clock yet?”
“No, ’m; it wants five minutes of eleven.”
“I am too busy: I have too much to do. It is impossible that I should see any one this morning.”
“So I told Miss Prince, ’m; but she said she was sure that you would see her.”
“Miss Prince always says that.”