No wonder he grew pale and heavy-eyed and
_distrait_. But no one of those who noticed that he ate little and
spoke little, and walked with weary footsteps, knew that he was a
haunted man--haunted not by any pale spectre, but by veritable flesh
and blood, gold crowned, pink tinted, and illumined by the bluest eyes
this side of the blue heavens. It is useless for those who are
troubled in this way to say they _will not_ be haunted. Celestial
visits are planned with reference to anything but the convenience of
their recipient.
Allan Dunlop was spoken of as 'a pushing young man,' but in affairs of
the heart he did not push--he simply waited. Not that he had any faith
in the so-called beneficent influences of time--for what young lover
is willing to believe that the slow drag of months and years over his
passion will crush all life from it at last?--but he had the delicacy
of nature which forbids the gross intrusion of personal wishes and
desires upon unwilling ears. He had, besides, a spark of that
old-world loyalty which is prone to uphold the claim of the father in
the face of despairing aspirants for the daughter's hand.
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