"Little rift within the lute,That ever widening, makes the music mute."
"Little rift within the lute,That ever widening, makes the music mute."
Meantime Miss Darling, standing where he had left her, watched him keenly. The eyes beneath the broad brim of her hat were soft and gentle, the tears still lay upon her cheeks. Instinctively she recognised the anguish of the man before her, and she respected it, looking on with reverent but unspoken sympathy. Presently she moved quietly across the room and approached him; he paid no attention to her; apparently he had forgotten her very existence. She put one hand timidly on his arm.
"Will you come?" she said. "Oh, will you come with me—to Patricia? Only think how long she has waited! Only think of Patricia—our Patricia—in prison on so vile a suspicion!"
He looked down upon her, and at the hand resting on his arm; his face was drawn and aged, his eyes dark with suffering.
"Yes, I will come," he said; "I will go with you. My God, only to think of it! Patricia—Patty—in prison, and for murder!"
He took up his hat mechanically, and followed her as she led the way down the dimly lighted stairs, their footsteps echoing drearily behind them. And so together they passed on and out of the dark building, and were swallowed up in the greater darkness of the night.
The wax candles in the wall-sconces burnt on all through the long night hours, and died out only as the early sunlight struck athwart their feeble rays. On the table lay the accumulated letters and papers, one marked across the face "immediate," in a strong, bold hand. On the floor a glove had dropped, and close beside the door lay a withered rose-bud, as it had fallen from Dick's breast-knot.
And the morning hours grew into noontide, and gave place to afternoon, followed in turn by the shadows of evening; but neither the master of the deserted room, nor the girl with the bright eyes beneath the wide hat, came back to it. And so another day was born, and died, and slipped away into eternity within the narrow confines of that solitary chamber.
END OF VOL. II.
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.