As he opened it, he could not help glancing at
Beauchamp. Instead of the dismay he expected, he saw triumph on his
pale countenance, and in the curl of his scarred lip.--He flew frantic
from the house. The sky was crowded with the watchings of starry eyes.
To his fancy, they were like Beauchamp's, and he hated them. Seeking
refuge from their gaze, he rushed to the library, and threw himself on
a heap of foreign books, which he had that morning arranged for
binding. A ghostly glimmer from the snow, and the stars overhead, made
the darkness thinner about the windows; but there was no other light in
the place; and there he lay, feeling darker within than the night
around him. Kate was weeping in her room; that contemptible ape had
wounded her; and instead of being sorry for it, was rejoicing in his
power. And he could not go to her; she would receive no comfort from
him.
It was a bitter hour. Eternity must be very rich to make up for some
such hours.
He had lain a long time with his face down upon the books, when he
suddenly started and listened. He heard the sound of an opening door,
but not of the door in ordinary use. Thinking it proceeded from some
thievish intent, he kept still.
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