“And leaves you here alone in this miserable darkness? Most extraordinary!—indeed, most unaccountable!” and, as he spoke, he approached the table and snuffed the candles, with a movement of impatience.
“She left me here with old friends,” said Edward, with a forced smile. “I have been reading.”
“What, in the dark?” inquired D’Effernay, with a look of distrust. “It was so dark when I came in, that you could not possibly have distinguished a letter.”
“I read for some time, and then I fell into a train of thought, which is usually the result of reading Young’s “Night Thoughts.””
“Young! I can not bear that author. He is so gloomy.”
“But you are fortunately so happy, that the lamentations of the lonely mourner can find no echo in your breast.”
“You think so!” said D’Effernay, in a churlish tone, and he pressed his lips together tightly, as Emily came into the room: he went to meet her.
“You have been a long time away,” was his observation, as he looked into her eyes, where the trace of tears might easily be detected. “I found our guest alone.”
“M. de Wensleben was good enough to excuse me,” she replied, “and then I thought you would be back immediately.”
They sat down to the table; coffee was brought, and the past appeared to be forgotten.