She sat in the twilight, listening with painful intentness
to every step on the stairs; again and again her heart leaped at
some footfall far below, only to be deceived. She had not even now
made up her mind how to speak to him, or whether to speak to him at
all; but she longed passionately to see him. The alternations of
hope and disappointment made her feverish. Illusions began to
possess her. Once she heard distinctly the familiar knock. It seemed
to rouse her from slumber: she sprang to the door and opened it, but
no one was there. She ran half way down the stairs, but saw no one.
It was now nearly midnight. The movement had dispelled for a little
the lethargy which was growing upon her, and she suddenly came to a
resolution. Taking a sheet of note-paper, she wrote this:--
"I have been without work for a fortnight. All my money is done, and I
am in want. Can you send me some, for present help, till I get more
work? _Do not bring it yourself, and do not speak a word of this when
you see me, I beg you earnestly_. If I shall fail to get work, I will
speak to you of my own accord.
I. S."
She went out and posted this, though she had no stamp to put on the
envelope; then, returning, she threw herself as she was on to the bed,
and before long passed into unconsciousness.
Pages:
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358