It was so with Adrienne. All things seemed changed to
her, and in that bitter necromancy her pride was humbled. Wherever she
went there was but one dear face she longed to see--one dear face with
the quiet eyes she loved. There were days when she so longed to see him,
when the sound of his voice or the touch of his hand would have been so
inexpressibly dear to her, that it seemed as if the very force of her
passion must surely draw him back to her. But he never came. During
those two long years something went from her forever. She was not
conscious of it at the time--only of the dull ache, and feverish
longing, and utter apathy that seized her by turns. There was a subtle
difference in all things. 'Twas as if some fine spring in the delicate
mechanism of her being had broken. It might run on for years, but never
again with the perfectness and buoyancy with which it had once moved.
As her life altered so terribly, as all that she had known and valued
perished miserably before her eyes day by day, the thought of Calvert
and of his calm steadiness and sincerity became constant with her. She
heard of him from time to time from Mr.
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