So she folded up the
letter and put it in her pocket.
But by putting the letter into her pocket she could not put it out of her
mind. Though she had resolved, of what use to her was a resolution in
which she could not trust? Day had passed by after day, week after week,
and month after month, and her very soul within her had become sad for
want of seeing this man, who was living almost in the next street to her.
She was ashamed to own to herself how many hours she had sat at the
window, thinking that, perhaps, he might walk before the house in which he
knew that she was immured. And, even had it been impossible that he should
come to her, the post was open to him. She had scorned to write to him
oftener than he would write to her, and now their correspondence had
dwindled almost to nothing. He knew as well as did Lady Fawn when the
period of her incarceration in Lady Linlithgow's dungeon would come to an
end; and he knew, too, how great had been her hope that she might be
accepted as a guest at the deanery when that period should arrive. He knew
that she must look for a new home, unless he would tell her where she
should live.
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