All that day Edith remained in the house, pale, silent, but expectant. At every sound she started and looked anxiously towards the door; but Mr. Santley made no sign. At last, disappointed and heart-broken, she went up to bed.
Several days passed thus. Edith fearing to cross the threshold, shrinking in horror at the thought of meeting any of her fellow-creatures, moved about the house in pale, sad silence; expectant sometimes’, at others crying her heart out in sickening despair. The suspense was terrible; and terrible too was the thought of having to bear her secret sorrow entirely alone. If she could only see him, tell him, feel his passionate kiss, and hear his whispered words of comfort, her trouble, she thought, would be lightened by one half. Never had she needed him so much; yet never, she thought, had she seemed so utterly alone.
And with this hopeless dread upon her, this sense of mental agony which seemed to be wearing her very life away, she waited and waited for the words which never came.
At last she felt she could wait no longer. Since it was evident he did not: intend to send to her, she determined to send to him. So she wrote—
“For Heaven’s sake come to me. I must see you at once. Charles, for both! our sakes, do not neglect my request:—
“Edith.”
It was a mad letter to write, and at another time Edith would not have written it; but now her trouble seemed to be turning her brain. She determined to trust it to no hands but her own; so, having written and sealed it, she put on her hat and cloak to take it to the post.
It was the first time she had been out! since that night when she had fainted: upon her bedroom floor, and nothing but a sense of utter desperation would have forced her from the house even now. For she felt as if her secret was known to all the world; that curious eyes looked questioningly into hers, and honest faces turned from her; and that by one and all she was left to walk along her troubled path alone.
It was not late in the afternoon, but the time for long bright evenings had long since passed away. Though the church clock had not long struck five, darkness was coming on, and a keen north wind was blowing. Edith, who was thickly veiled and well wrapped up in a large fur cloak, walked quickly as if to keep herself warm. She reached the village, slipped her letter into the post, then hurriedly turned to retrace her steps homewards. She had accomplished about half the distance, and was walking very hurriedly, when suddenly she stopped, and her heart gave a great bound. There in the road, quietly walking towards her, was Mr. Santley.
Edith stood for a moment, feeling almost suffocated through the quick beating of her heart; then, with the wild impetuosity of a child, she ran forward and, seizing his hand, exclaimed—