'They are vile falsifying telegraphs of me, then, sweet Isabel. What my look was I cannot tell, but my heart was only dark with ill-restrained upbraidings against heaven that could unrelentingly see such innocence as thine so suffer. Go on with thy too-touching tale.'
'Quietly I sat there sewing, not brave enough to look up at all, and thanking my good star, that had led me to so concealed a nook behind the rest: quietly I sat there, sewing on a flannel shirt, and with each stitch praying God, that whatever heart it might be folded over, the flannel might hold it truly warm; and keep out the wide-world-coldness which I felt myself; and which no flannel, or thickest fur, or any fire then could keep off from me; quietly I sat there sewing, when I heard the announcing words—oh, how deep and ineffaceably engraved they are!—"Ah, dames, dames,—Madam Glendinning,—Master Pierre Glendinning." Instantly, my sharp needle went through my side and stitched my heart; the flannel dropped from my hand; thou heard'st my shriek. But the good people bore me still nearer to the casement close at hand, and threw it open wide; and God's own breath breathed on me; and I rallied; and said it was some merest passing fit—'twas quite over now—I was used to it—they had my heart's best thanks—but would they now only leave me to myself, it were best for me;—I would go on and sew. And thus it came and passed away; and again I sat sewing on the flannel, hoping either that the unanticipated persons would soon depart, or else that some spirit would catch me away from there; I sat sewing on—till, Pierre! Pierre!—without looking up—for that I dared not do at any time that evening—only once—without looking up, or knowing aught but the flannel on my knee, and the needle in my heart, I felt,—Pierre, felt—a glance of magnetic meaning on me.
