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Something about the thought of David like an angelic presence seemed to save her. The silence between them was so intense that nothing else could be heard by the two. The voices below were drowned by it, the footstep on the stair was as if it were not. At last Kate spoke, angered still more by her sister’s soft eyes which gazed steadily back and did not droop before her own flashing onslaught.
Time of your life, old man, time of your life!—And, oh, by the way," he said, suddenly interrupting himself, "I wonder if my sister’s got here yet!" "Which sister?" Jack inquired; for his friend was one of a very large family, and he had met several of them on their various visits to town.
Julia’s voice was strangely like her sister’s, and by means of imitating her she hoped to deceive both Mr. Wilmot and Mr. Miller, who were startled by a loud, angry voice, exclaiming, "Come, you black imp, no more lies, you know you’ve stolen it, so just confess, and tell me where it is."
As Julia looked into her sister’s bright, innocent face and thought of all her kindness, her conscience smote her for the wrong she had done, but quickly hushing the faithful monitor, she thought, "Never mind; it is natural for me to be bad. I cannot help it." Meantime the gentlemen above were discussing the conversation which they had overheard. "Is it possible," said Mr.
Cornelia Sersale now entreated the poet to take up his abode permanently in her house, and to forget the rebuffs of the cruel world without in the enjoyment of family ties and affections; and well would it have been for Torquato, had he accepted his sister’s advice and passed the succeeding years in simple rural pleasures.
The thought flitted through the girl’s mind, and in an instant more the whole panorama of the day’s excitement was before her, and she sprang from her bed. As if it had been her own wedding day instead of her sister’s, she performed her dainty toilet, for though there was need for haste, she knew she would have no further time beyond a moment to slip on her best gown and smooth her hair.
That is why she went up to Eleanore’s bed in the dead of night, and whispered into her ear: “Tell me, Eleanore, has anything happened to Daniel?” But before Eleanore could reply, reassured by her sister’s astonished behaviour, and angry at herself for having suspected Eleanore of a falsehood, she hurried back to her own bed. She had come to think more and more of her sister every day.
Kate, standing within the chintz curtains across the yard shedding angry tears upon her purple silk, heard presently the sweet tones of the piano, which might have been hers; heard her sister’s voice singing, and began to understand that she must bear the punishment of her own rash deeds.
She felt herself too young, of course, to think of such things, but when she dreamed her day dreams the lover and prince who figured in them bore no familiar form or feature. He was a prince and these were only schoolboys. The merry chatter of the young people in the house floated through the open windows, and Marcia could hear her sister’s voice above them all.
Just at the door something caught her eye under the edge of the chintz valence round the bed. It was but the very tip of the corner of an old daguerreotype, but for some reason Marcia was moved to stoop and draw it from its concealment. Then she saw it was her sister’s saucy, pretty face that laughed back at her in defiance from the picture.
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