At the breakfast table he was the same easy, elegant, attentive
host he always was in his own house, conversing pleasantly upon
indifferent topics, but he could not look at her now, on this her
last day with him; could not endure to hear her voice, and he
avoided her presence, seeing as little of her as possible, and
retiring unusually early, even though he read in her speaking eyes
a wish that he would tarry longer.
The next morning, however, he knew the instant she was astir,
listening eagerly to the sound of her footsteps as she made her
hasty toilet, and watching her from his window as she went to
Nina's grave, sobbing out her sad farewell to the loved dead. He
saw her, too, as she came back to the house, and then with a
beating heart went down to meet her.
The breakfast was scarcely touched, and the moment it was over
Edith hurried to her chamber, for it was nearly time to go. The
trunks were brought down--Edith's and Marie's--for the latter was
to live henceforth with her young mistress; the servants had
crowded to the door, bidding their mistress good bye, and then it
was Arthur's turn.
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