They reached the top of the hill, and came to a door
where she stopped. He fell back a pace. "Good-bye--" It was eternal
loss, but it was escape.
She smiled in timorous hesitation. "Won't you come in? And I will
get Mr. Berry's letter."
She opened the door with a latch-key, and he followed her within; a
servant-girl came half-way up the basement stairs to see who it was,
and then went down. She left him in the dim parlour a moment, while
she went to get the letter. When she returned, "I have a little room
for my work at the top of the house," she said, "but it will never
be like the St. Albans. There's no one else here yet, and it's
pretty lonesome--without Madeline."
She sank into a chair, but he remained standing, and seemed not to
heed her when she asked him to sit down. He put Berry's letter into
his pocket without looking at it, and she rose again.
She must have thought he was going, and she said with a smile of
gentle trust, "It's been like having last winter back again to see
you. We thought you must have gone home right after the fire; we
didn't see anything of you again. We went ourselves in about a
week."
Then she did not know, and he must tell her himself.
"Did Mr. Berry say anything about me--at the fire--that last day?"
he began bluntly.
"No!" she said, looking at him with surprise; there was a new sound in
his voice.
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