'
Frank's voice trembled here, and be seemed to see again the cold, still
face of the dead woman, whose lips, could they have spoken, might have
unlocked the mystery and brought a message from Gretchen'
'True, true,' Arthur replied. 'She would have come or written. How long
is it since I came home?'
'Four years next October,' Frank said.
'Four years;' Arthur went on, 'is it so long as that? And it, was then
more than three years since I had seen her. Everything was blotted out
from my mind from the time that I entered that accursed _maison de
sante_ until I found myself in Paris. I am afraid she _is_ dead.'
Just then Charles came in with lights and the chocolate his master
always took before retiring, and so Frank said good-night, and went out
upon the broad piazza, hoping the night air would cool his heated brow,
or that the laughter and prattle of Jack and Maude, who were frolicking
on the gravel walk, would drown the voice of the shadow which said to
him:
'But for the number of years he says it is since he saw Gretchen, there
could be no doubt, and you would be the biggest rascal living. As it is,
you need not distress yourself--Jerry is nothing to him; and if she
were, you have gone too far now to go back. People would never respect
you again.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245