It was not, perhaps, love as
she had dreamed it, and even BELIEVED it, before. She was not ashamed
or embarrassed; she even felt, with a slight pride, that she was not
blushing. She raised her eyes frankly. What she WOULD have said she did
not know, for the door, which he had closed behind her, began to shake
violently.
It was not the fear of some angry intrusion or interference surely that
made him drop her hand instantly. It was not--her second thought--the
idea that some one had fallen in a fit against it that blanched his face
with abject and unreasoning terror! It must have been something else
that caused him to utter an inarticulate cry and dash out of the room
and down the stairs like a madman! What had happened?
In her own self-possession she knew that all this was passing rapidly,
that it was not the door now that was still shaking, for it had swung
almost shut again--but it was the windows, the book-shelves, the floor
beneath her feet, that were all shaking.
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