"He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. I want to ask you a plain question, and you must answer me faithfully. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. “Is Larry already in bed?” Cathy nodded yes.
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