And all the time
he had in his heart the message for which she longed; support and
comfort were waiting for her there, she felt sure, could he but
speak unrestrainedly. In herself was no salvation; but he had
already overcome, and why could she not ask him for the secret of
his confidence? Often, as the evening drew to an end, and he was
preparing to leave, an impatience scarcely to be repressed took hold
upon her; her face grew hot, her hands trembled, she would have
followed him from the room and begged for one word to herself had it
been possible. And when he was gone, there came the weakest moments
her life had yet known; a childish petulance, a tearful fretting, an
irritable misery of which she was ashamed. She went to her room to
suffer in silence, and often to read through that packet of his
letters, till the night was far spent.
It had cost her much to leave London. She feared lest, during her
absence, something should occur to break off the wonted course of
things, and that Waymark might not resume his visits on their
return. After the feverish interval of those first weeks, she tried
sometimes to distract her thoughts by reading, and got from a
library a book which Waymark had recommended to her at their last
meeting--Rossetti's poems.
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