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But even in this pang he did not regret that all was over between them. He knew now that he had never cared for her as he had once thought, and on her account, if not his own, he was glad their engagement was broken. A soft melancholy for his own disappointment imparted itself to his thoughts of Cynthia. He felt truly sorry for her, and he truly admired and respected her.

He started up from his pillows, and seized her wrist with a strength which she had not thought remained in his fingers. "Mr. Merrill!" he cried "Mr. Merrill here!" "Yes," answered Cynthia, agitatedly, "he's downstairs in the store." "Ask him to come up," said Wetherell, sinking back again, "ask him to come up." Cynthia, as she stood in the passage, was of two minds about it.

Then had come a torrent of tears, a wild hysterical weeping. She did not attempt to check it, but took Cynthia in her arms as if she had been a baby. "I'm not going to that school any more," she said brokenly, after a while. "What happened, dear?" Cynthia raised her head. "It was very mean, as if I had done it on purpose! Why, I might have hurt myself;" indignantly. "How was it?" gently.

Cynthia did love me when she left Dorking for her parents' house in London; not, perhaps, with the absorbing passion she had inspired in me; yet well enough, as I was assured, to face social disaster and a break with her family, in order that she might entrust her life to me. 'Cynthia, I said, at the end of that last walk, 'London is not to rob me of you? Promise me!

Cynthia bent over and kissed among the stitches the poor fingers had toiled at day after day, sorry for the toil, glad for the love that came at the last. The Leverett house opened its doors with a generous hospitality. People, men at least, began to think of something beside money-making, and some fine plans were broached. Chilian Leverett seemed to grow younger.

He shook his client's hand, held it, shook it again, and could scarcely find words to express his excitement and delight. Even Esme Darlington's usual careful serenity was for the moment obscured by an emotion eminently human, as he spoke into Mrs. Clarke's ear the following words of a ripe wisdom: "Cynthia, my dear, after this do take my advice and live as others live.

"What made you change your mind?" asked Cynthia, biting her lip. "Oh, Bob hasn't the temperament," said Janet, making use of a word that she had just discovered; "he's too practical he never does or says the things you want him to. He's just been out West with us on a trip, and he was always looking at locomotives and brakes and grades and bridges and all such tiresome things.

"Fetch Jethro." But Cynthia had already flown on that errand. Curiously enough, she ran into Jethro in the hall immediately outside of Ephraim's door. Ephraim got to his feet; it was very difficult for him to realize that his troubles were ended, that he was to earn his living at last. He looked at Jethro, and his eyes filled with tears.

She did not look at him, but stared with determination into the fire. "Bob, you must go," she said. "Go!" he cried. Her voice loosed the fetters of his passion, and he dared to seize the band that lay on the arm of her chair. She did not resist this. "Yes, you must go. You should not have stayed for supper." "Cynthia," he said, "how can I leave you? I will not leave you."

"I'm awfully glad to meet you, Miss. Wetherell," said Somers, fervently; "to tell you the truth, I thought he was just making up yarns." "Yarns?" repeated Cynthia, with a look that set Mr. Duncan floundering. "Why, yes," he stammered. "Worthy said that you were up here, but I thought he was crazy the way he talked I didn't think " "Think what?" inquired Cynthia, but she flushed a little.