Collingwood was just the same, and its massive walls rose as
proudly amid the dark evergreens around it as they had done in
times gone by, when to the little orphan it seemed a second
Paradise. Away to the right lay Grassy Spring, the twilight
shadows gathering around it, piles of snow resting on its roof,
and a thin wreath of smoke curling from a single chimney in the
rear.
All this Edith saw as in the village omnibus she was driven toward
home, Richard was not expecting them until the morrow, and thus no
new fires were kindled, no welcoming lights hung out, and the
house was unusually gloomy and dark. During Edith's absence
Richard had staid mostly in the library, and there he was sitting
now, with his hands folded together in that peculiarly helpless
way which characterized all his motions. He heard the sound of
wheels, the banging of trunks, and then his ear caught a footstep
it knew full well, a slow, shuffling tread, but Edith's still, and
out into the silent hall he groped his way, watching there until
she came.
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