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Wharton, Edith, 1862-1937

"The Descent of Man and Other Stories"

Blinder tried to look shocked, and Mr. Wace said
the bears would eat us.
We were all glad to hear that the West Indies were a long way off,
and I remember that, in spite of Mr. Wace's solemn looks, we had a
very merry dinner that day in the hall. I don't know if it was
because of my being in better spirits, but I fancied Mrs. Brympton
looked better too, and seemed more cheerful in her manner. She had
been for a walk in the morning, and after luncheon she lay down in
her room, and I read aloud to her. When she dismissed me I went to
my own room feeling quite bright and happy, and for the first time
in weeks walked past the locked door without thinking of it. As I
sat down to my work I looked out and saw a few snow-flakes falling.
The sight was pleasanter than the eternal rain, and I pictured to
myself how pretty the bare gardens would look in their white mantle.
It seemed to me as if the snow would cover up all the dreariness,
indoors as well as out.
The fancy had hardly crossed my mind when I heard a step at my side.
I looked up, thinking it was Agnes.
"Well, Agnes--" said I, and the words froze on my tongue; for there,
in the door, stood Emma Saxon.
I don't know how long she stood there. I only know I couldn't stir
or take my eyes from her. Afterward I was terribly frightened, but
at the time it wasn't fear I felt, but something deeper and quieter.
She looked at me long and long, and her face was just one dumb
prayer to me--but how in the world was I to help her? Suddenly she
turned, and I heard her walk down the passage.


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