She stood looking at him for a
moment or two longer. He was again as rigid, as impassive, as before.
Pride had conquered, and he cared naught for her. The grey light of
dawn was gradually yielding to the rosy light of the rising sun.
Birds began to twitter; Nature awakened, smiling in happy response to
the warmth of this glorious October morning. Only between these two
hearts there lay a strong, impassable barrier, built up of pride on
both sides, which neither of them cared to be the first to demolish.
He had bent his tall figure in a low ceremonious bow, as she
finally, with another bitter little sigh, began to mount the terrace
steps.
The long train of her gold-embroidered gown swept the dead
leaves off the steps, making a faint harmonious sh--sh--sh as she
glided up, with one hand resting on the balustrade, the rosy light of
dawn making an aureole of gold round her hair, and causing the rubies
on her head and arms to sparkle. She reached the tall glass doors
which led into the house. Before entering, she paused once again to
look at him, hoping against hope to see his arms stretched out to her,
and to hear his voice calling her back.
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