Edith was almost crazy, and Arthur, whenever he chanced to meet
her, marvelled at the change since he saw her last. Once he, too,
thought of appealing to Richard to save her from so sad a fate as
that of an unloving wife, but he would not interfere, lest by so
doing he should err again, and so in dreary despair, which each
day grew blacker and more hopeless, Edith was left alone, until
Victor roused in her behalf, and without allowing himself time to
reflect, sought his master's presence, bearing with him Nina's
letter, and the soiled sheet on which Richard had unwittingly
scratched out Arthur's marriage.
It was a warm, balmy afternoon, and through the open windows of
the library, the south wind came stealing in, laden with the
perfume of the pink-tinted apple blossoms, and speaking to the
blind man of the long ago, when it was his to see the budding
beauties now shut out from his sight. The hum of the honey-bee was
heard, and the air was rife with the sweet sounds of later spring.
On the branch of a tree without, a robin was trilling a song.
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