witness, that I would not have left her could my stay have been either benefit or comfort. But Ethel Churchill's is no temper to soothe itself with words. She suffers in silence; and light and darkness are not more opposed than our natures,—there never was sympathy between us; but I do pity her. You would scarcely know her again, she is so altered; there she mopes about the house, she who used to be the life of us all. When with her grandmother, she does try and get up her spirits a little; but when out of her sight, she will sit, and not speak a word for hours. This, Mr. Courtenaye, is your doing."
The loud ringing of the prompter's bell made her spring suddenly away; and two of his companions, each taking an arm, hurried him away also. How glad would he have been to have left the party: his thoughts were in a tumult; duties and inclinations warred together—nay, his very sense of right was confounded. To see Ethel once more, to kneel at her feet, to accuse himself, and to implore her pardon, mingled indistinctly in his resolves.
