His sister's drooping little figure attracted the attention of Helene.
"Do you talk of going?" Helene asked. "Well, so you shall go--to bed;
and the very first bed we come to." She bent caressingly over the
little golden head of her friend. Their beautiful arms were
interlinked. Rose glanced irresolutely at her brother.
"You will need to put on the extra wraps you brought," he said, "as it
is particularly cold at this hour of the morning." Helene was ignored
utterly. He did not seem to know that she was present. The proud girl
was wounded to the quick. She was not visible at their leave-takings.
When every one was gone she went away upstairs, telling herself at
every step that she hated, hated, Edward Macleod; that he was in all
things and in every way detestable. She did not weep nor bewail. The
tears showed as seldom in her eyes as the blood in her cheeks, and her
pride was of the inflexible sort that scorns to relax when its
possessor is alone. She dropped into a heavy troubled sleep, and
dreamed that she was solitary in a frozen land, whose only sunshine
was the golden head of her lover.
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