paleness grew whiter on her face, and she turned it farther away from me.
“Don’t speak of to-morrow,” she said. “Let the music speak to us of to-night, in a happier language than ours.”
Her lips trembled—a faint sigh fluttered from them, which she tried vainly to suppress. Her fingers wavered on the piano—she struck a false note, confused herself in trying to set it right, and dropped her hands angrily on her lap. Miss Halcombe and Mr. Gilmore looked up in astonishment from the card-table at
Miss Fairlie is?”
Her mind was evidently occupied with the message she had received from her sister. She answered in a hasty, absent way—
“A gentleman of large property in Hampshire.”
Hampshire! Anne Catherick’s native place. Again, and yet again, the woman in white. There WAS a fatality in it.
“And