with him, and her joy seemed twofold,—a joy of the past and present, of memory and of hope.
What I have just said are Caroline's ideas of the pair: she felt what has just been described. In thus feeling, she tried not to suffer; but suffered sharply, nevertheless. She suffered, indeed, miserably: a few minutes before, her famished heart had tasted a drop and crumb of nourishment that, if freely given, would have brought back abundance of life where life was failing; but the generous feast was snatched from her, spread before another, and she remained but a bystander at the banquet.
The clock struck nine: it was Caroline's time for going home: she gathered up her work, put the embroidery, the scissors, the thimble into her bag: she bade Mrs. Pryor a quiet good-night, receiving from that lady a warmer pressure of the hand than usual: she stepped up to Miss Keeldar.
"Good-night, Shirley!"
Shirley started up. "What!—so soon? Are you going already?"
"It is past nine."
"I never heard the clock. You will come again to-morrow; and you will be happy to-night, will you not? Remember our plans."
"Yes," said Caroline; "I have not forgotten."
Her mind misgave her that neither those plans nor any other could permanently restore her mental tranquillity. She turned to Robert, who stood close behind her: as he looked up, the light of the candles on
