You will learn to love him. You will be happy. Do not write to me
till it is over, then send your cards, and I shall know 'tis done.
Farewell, my sister--farewell forever."
Without a word of reply Edith moved away, nor cast a backward
glance at the faint, sick man, who leaned his burning forehead
against the gleaming marble; while drop after drop of perspiration
fell upon the ground, but brought him no relief. He heard the
carriage wheels as they rolled from the door, and the sound seemed
grinding his life to atoms, for by that token he knew that Edith
was gone--that to him there was nothing left save the little mound
at his feet and the memory of his broken lily who slept beneath
it. How he wanted her now--wanted his childish Nina--his fair
girl-wife, to comfort him. But it could not be, Nina was dead--her
sweet, bird-like voice was hushed; it would never meet his
listening ear again, and for him there was nothing left, save the
wailing wind to whisper sadly to him as she was wont to do, "Poor
Arthur boy, poor Arthur boy.
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