Snow everywhere, as cold, as desolate as Edith's heart, and
she bade Victor take her back again to the warm grate where she
might perhaps forget how gloomy and sad, and silent, was Grassy
Spring.
"Did I say anything when I was delirious--anything I ought not to
have said?" she suddenly asked of Grace; and Victor, as if she had
questioned him, answered quickly,
"Nothing, nothing--all is safe."
Like a flash of lightning, Grace Atherton's eyes turned upon him,
while he, guessing her suspicions, returned her glance with one as
strangely inquisitive as her own.
"Mon Dieu! I verily believe she knows," he muttered, as he left
the room, and repairing to his own, dived to the bottom of his
trunk, to make sure that he still held in his possession the paper
on which it had been "scratched out."
That night as Grace Atherton took her leave of Edith, she bent
over the young girl, and whispered in her ear,
"I know it all. Arthur told me the night before he left. God pity
you, Edith! God pity you!"
CHAPTER XXIV.
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