It could not be Jack. It
ought not, must not, should not be Jack. Had I not to act in
suffering and despair to-night? Well, even if he had returned in
safety from his cruise it was without a thought of me in his heart.
He was engaged--married--for aught I knew. It was possible, nay,
certain, that I should never see him again.
And yet I ran all the way home. And yet I told the servant
breathlessly--"If any visitors call I do not wish to be disturbed."
And yet I made my mother repeat the promise she had given me the
previous night. Then I flew to my den at the top of the house; bolted
myself in, and set a chair against the door as if I were afraid of
anyone making a forcible entry. I stuffed my fingers in my ears, and
went over my part with vigour, with more noise even than was
absolutely necessary. Still, how strangely I seemed to hear every
sound. A hansom passing--no, a hansom drawing up at our house. I went
as far from the window as possible. I wedged myself up between the
sofa and the wall, and I shut my eyes firmly. Surely there were
unaccustomed sounds about, talking and laughing, as if something
pleasant had happened. Presently heavy footsteps came bounding up,
two steps at a time. Oh! should I have the courage not to answer if
it should be Jack?
But it was not.
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