Sir Percy jumped down quickly, then helped Marguerite to
alight. She lingered outside a moment, whilst he gave a few orders to
one of his men. She skirted the house, and stepped on to the lawn,
looking out dreamily into the silvery landscape. Nature seemed
exquisitely at peace, in comparison with the tumultuous emotions she
had gone through: she could faintly hear the ripple of the river and
the occasional soft and ghostlike fall of a dead leaf from a tree.
All else was quiet round her. She had heard the horses
prancing as they were being led away to their distant stables, the
hurrying of servant's feet as they had all gone within to rest: the
house also was quite still. In two separate suites of apartments,
just above the magnificent reception-rooms, lights were still burning,
they were her rooms, and his, well divided from each other by the
whole width of the house, as far apart as their own lives had become.
Involuntarily she sighed--at that moment she could really not have
told why.
She was suffering from unconquerable heartache. Deeply and
achingly she was sorry for herself. Never had she felt so pitiably
lonely, so bitterly in want of comfort and of sympathy.
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