How
well it was that he had this home in which to receive her! Half a
year ago, and what should he have done? He would not admit to
himself that there were any difficulties ahead; if it came to that,
he would manage to get some extra work in the evening and on
Saturday afternoons. He would take Sidney into council. But
thereupon his face darkened again, and he lost himself in troubled
musing.
Midway in the Sunday morning Amy told him that Clara had risen and
would like him to go and sit with her. She would not leave her room;
Amy had put it in order, and the blind was drawn low. Clara sat by
the fireside, in her attitude of last night, hiding her face as far
as she was able. The beauty of her form would have impressed anyone
who approached her, the grace of her bent head; but the countenance
was no longer that of Clara Hewett; none must now look at her,
unless to pity. Feeling herself thus utterly changed, she could not
speak in her former natural voice; her utterance was oppressed,
unmusical, monotonous.
When her father had taken a place near her she asked him, 'Have you
got that piece of newspaper still?'
He had, and at her wish produced it.
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