she came across a packet of letters in a well-known feminine hand-writing. She pocketed it, and, after disposing of the bandages, went to her own room, locked the door, and sat down to examine the letters. Between reading and thinking and sighing and (in spite of herself) smiling, this process took the whole morning. As she came down to dinner, she encountered Mrs. Ford and Miss Cooper, emerging from the sitting-room, the good long talk being only just concluded.
"How do you feel, Ma'am?" she asked of the elder lady, — "rested?"
For all answer Mrs. Ford gave a look — I had almost said a scowl — so hard, so cold, so reproachful, that Lizzie was transfixed. But suddenly its sickening meaning was revealed to her. She turned to Miss Cooper, who stood pale and fluttering beside the mistress, her everlasting smile glazed over with a piteous, deprecating glance; and I fear her eyes flashed out the same message of angry scorn they had just received. These telegraphic operations are very rapid. The ladies hardly halted: the next moment found them seated at the dinner-table with Miss Cooper scrutinizing her napkin-mark and Mrs. Ford saying grace.
Dinner was eaten in silence. When it was over, Lizzie returned to her own room. Miss Cooper went home, and Mrs. Ford went to her son. Lizzie heard the firm low click of the lock as she closed the door. Why did she lock it? There was something fatal in the silence that followed. The plot of her little tragedy thickened. Be it so: she would act her part with the rest. For the second time in her experience, her mind was lightened by the intervention of Mrs. Ford. Before the scorn of her own conscience, (which never came,) before Jack's deepest reproach, she was ready to bow down, — but not before that long-faced Nemesis in black silk. The leaven of resentment began to work. She leaned back in her chair, and folded her arms, brave to await results. But before long she fell asleep. She was aroused by a knock at her chamber-door. The afternoon was far gone. Miss Dawes stood without.
"Elizabeth, Mr. John wants very much to see you, with his love. Come down very gently: his mother is lying down. Will you sit with him while I take my dinner? — Better? Yes, ever so much."
Lizzie betook herself with trembling haste to Jack's bedside.
He was propped up with pillows. His pale cheeks were slightly flushed. His eyes were bright. He raised himself, and, for such feeble arms, gave Lizzie a long, strong embrace.
"I 've not seen you all day, Lizzie," said he. "Where have you been?"
"Dear Jack, they would n't let me come near you. I begged and prayed. And I wanted so to go to you in the army; but I could n't. I wish, I wish I had!"
"You would n't have liked it, Lizzie. I 'm glad you did n't. It 's a bad, bad place."
He lay quietly, holding her hands and gazing at her.
"Can I do anything for you, dear?" asked the young girl. "I would work my life out. I 'm so glad you 're better!"
It was some time before Jack answered, —
"Lizzie," said he, at last, "I sent for you to look at you. — You are more wondrously beautiful than ever. Your hair is brown, — like — like nothing; your eyes are blue; your neck is white. Well, well!"
He lay perfectly motionless, but for his eyes. They wandered over her with a kind of peaceful glee, like sunbeams playing on a statue. Poor Ford lay, indeed, not unlike an old wounded Greek, who at falling dusk has crawled into a temple to die, steeping the last dull interval in idle admiration of sculptured Artemis.
"Ah, Lizzie, this is already heaven!" he murmured.
"It will be heaven when you get well," whispered Lizzie.
He smiled into her eyes: —
"You say more than you mean.
