Some
lines have been haunting me for the last twelve hours, and I cannot
remember where they come from."
"What are they?" she asked, looking up, and Geoffrey saw, or thought he
saw, a strange fear shining in her eyes.
"Here are four of them," he answered unconcernedly; "we have no time for
long quotations:
"'That shall be to-morrow,
Not to-night:
I must bury sorrow
Out of sight.'"
Beatrice heard--heard the very lines which had been upon her lips in the
wild midnight that had gone. Her heart seemed to stop; she became
white as the dead, stumbled, and nearly fell. With a supreme effort she
recovered herself.
"I think that you must know the lines, Mr. Bingham," she said in a low
voice. "They come from a poem of Browning's, called 'A Woman's Last
Word.'"
Geoffrey made no answer; what was he to say? For a while they walked
on in silence. They were getting close to the station now. Separation,
perhaps for ever, was very near. An overmastering desire to know the
truth took hold of him.
"Miss Beatrice," he said again, "you look pale. Did you sleep well last
night?"
"No, Mr.
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