Hopkins, Pauline E.
|CHAPTER XVIII. -- WHAT EASTER SUNDAY BROUGHT.|
She got up at length, and going to the dressing-table, began mechanically to collect her jewelry. She caught sight of her face in the glass. What a change from the glowing beauty of one short hour ago! She looked at the pale, drawn countenance with scorn. "Men call me beautiful," she murmured bitterly; "what has beauty been to me but a curse?"
She heard the closing of doors and the voices of the returned church-goers. Could it be possible that she was the same happy girl whose smiling face had been given back from the mirror so radiantly a short hour ago? She heard the front door close again. It was Will's step upon the stair. He paused at her door a moment, and then passed on to the floor above. How often she had listened for that familiar tread. Her heart kept repeating: "Never again--never again."
Two hours later deep silence had fallen upon the house. A form attired in black, closely
Will in his room had fallen into his first sleep when he thought he heard the sound of noiseless footsteps in the hall. He listened a moment, and then concluded that he was mistaken. Who could be moving through the house at that hour? No, he was mistaken. His thoughts were all with Sappho. He lived over again the words and scenes of the morning. He heard the clocks strike twelve, one, two; then he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.