If she were not better when he returned it would be
well for him to seek some excuse to sleep at the inn, for her
appearance in the corner frightened him; and standing by the window,
looking into the quiet evening, he railed against his folly. Any one
but himself would have guessed that there was some grave reason for
her life in the convent. Such an end as this to the evening that had
begun so well! "My God, what am I to do!" And, turning impulsively,
he was about to fling himself at her feet, beseeching of her to
confide her trouble, but something in her appearance prevented him,
and in dismay he wondered what he had said to provoke such a change.
What had been said could not be unsaid, the essential was that the
ugly thought upon her like some nightmare should be forgotten. Now
what could he say to win her out of this dreadful gloom? If he were
to play something!
A very few bars convinced him that music would prove no healer to her
trouble. To lead her thoughts out of this trouble--was there no way?
What had they been talking about? The bullfinches which she had
taught to whistle the motives of "The Ring"; but such a laborious
occupation could only have been undertaken for some definite purpose,
to preserve her sanity, perhaps, and it would be natural for a woman
to resent any mention of mental trouble such as she had suffered from
on her return from Rome.
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