Richard Vandermarck by Miriam Coles Harris
page 44 of 261 (16%)
page 44 of 261 (16%)
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CHAPTER VI. MATINAL. Last night, when some one spoke his name, From my swift blood that went and came A thousand little shafts of flame Were shivered in my narrow frame. _Tennyson_. The next morning was brilliant and cool, the earth and heavens shining after the rain of the past night. I was dressed long, long before breakfast: it would be so tiresome to wait in my room till the bell rang; yet if I went down-stairs, would it not look as if I wanted to see Mr. Langenau again? I need not go to the library, of course, but I could scarcely avoid being seen from the library if I went out. But why suppose that he would be down again so early? It was very improbable, and so, affectionately deceived, I put on a hat and walking-jacket and stole down the stairs. I saw by the clock in the lower hall that it was half an hour earlier than I had come down the morning before; at which I was secretly chagrined, for now there was no danger, _alias_ hope, of seeing Mr. Langenau. But probably he had forgotten all about the foolish half-hour that had given me so much to think about. I glanced into the library, which was empty, and hurried out of the hall-door, secretly disappointed. |
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