"Poor Philip!" thought I. "Poor Philip! And what will be the end of
this?"
CHAPTER XI.
_Winwood Comes to See His Wife._
'T were scarce possible to exaggerate the eagerness with which
Margaret looked forward to the execution of the great project. Her
anticipations, in the intensity and entirety with which they possessed
her, equalled those with which she had formerly awaited the trip to
England. She was now as oblivious of the festivities arising from the
army's presence, as she had been of the town's tame pleasures on the
former occasion. She showed, to us who had the key to her mind, a
deeper abstraction, a more anxious impatience, a keener foretaste (in
imagination) of the triumphs our success would bring her. Her
favourable expectations, of course, seesawed with fears of failure;
and sometimes there was preserved a balance that afflicted her with a
most irritating uncertainty, revealed by petulant looks and tones. But
by force of will, 'twas mainly in the hope of success that she passed
the few days between our meeting in the glade and the appointed
Wednesday evening.
"Tut, sister," warned Tom, with kind intention, "don't raise yourself
so high with hope, or you may fall as far with disappointment."
"Never fear, Tom; we can't fail."
"It looks all clear and easy, I allow," said he; "but there's many a
slip, remember!"
"Not two such great slips to the same person," she replied.
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