But she said no
more.
"Well, I must go now. Good-night."
"Good-night, George! "Her bright, smiling eyes followed
him steadily, as he went out.
Mrs. Waldeux tapped at Clara's door that evening after
they reached home.
"I came to tell you that I shall leave London early in
the morning," she said.
"You will not wait to see George and his wife?"
"I hope I never shall see them again. No! Not a word!
I will hear no arguments!" She came into the room and
closed the door. There was a certain novel air of
decision and youth in her figure and movements. "I am
going to make a change, Clara," she said. "I have worked
for others long enough. I am going away now, alone. I
will be free. I will live my own life--at last." Her
eyes shone with exultation.
"And---- Where are you going?" stammered Miss Vance,
dismayed.
"I don't know. There is so much--it has all been waiting
so long for me. There are the cathedrals--and the
mountains. Or the Holy Land. Perhaps I may try to write
again. There seems to be a dumb word or two in me.
Don't be angry with me, Clara," throwing her arms about
her cousin, the tears rushing to her eyes. "I may come
back to you and little Lucy some time. But just now I
want to be alone and fancy myself young. I never was
young."
When Lucy stole into her old friend's chamber the next
morning as usual to drink her cup of coffee with her, she
found the door open and the room in disorder, and she was
told that Mrs.
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