It was the dreariest dawn Alec
had ever known.
Kate appeared at breakfast with indescribable signs of preparation
about her. The breakfast was dull and cheerless. The autumn sun was
brilliant. The inevitable gig appeared at the door. Alec was not even
to drive it. He could only help her into it, kiss her gloved hand on
the rail, and see her vanish behind the shrubbery.
He then turned in stern endurance, rushed up into the very room he had
thought it impossible ever to enter again, caught up a handkerchief she
had left behind her, pressed it to his face, threw himself on her bed,
and--well, he fell fast asleep.
He woke not so miserable as he had expected. Of this he was so much
ashamed that he tried hard to make himself more miserable, by going
over all the miseries in store for him. But his thoughts would not obey
him. They would take their own way, fly where they pleased, and alight
where they would. And the meeting in November was the most attractive
object in sight.--So easily is Hope born, when the time of her birth is
come!
But he soon found that Grief is like some maidens: she will not come
when she is called; but if you leave her alone, she will come of
herself.
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