Don't come in.'
'What is the matter?' he exclaimed.
'I don't know. I - I am afraid to think. Go back. Hark!'
There was a sudden tumult in the house. She put her hands upon her
ears. A wild scream, such as no hands could shut out, was heard;
and Grace - distraction in her looks and manner - rushed out at the
door.
'Grace!' He caught her in his arms. 'What is it! Is she dead!'
She disengaged herself, as if to recognise his face, and fell down
at his feet.
A crowd of figures came about them from the house. Among them was
her father, with a paper in his hand.
'What is it!' cried Alfred, grasping his hair with his hands, and
looking in an agony from face to face, as he bent upon his knee
beside the insensible girl. 'Will no one look at me? Will no one
speak to me? Does no one know me? Is there no voice among you
all, to tell me what it is!'
There was a murmur among them. 'She is gone.'
'Gone!' he echoed.
'Fled, my dear Alfred!' said the Doctor, in a broken voice, and
with his hands before his face. 'Gone from her home and us. To-
night! She writes that she has made her innocent and blameless
choice - entreats that we will forgive her - prays that we will not
forget her - and is gone.'
'With whom? Where?'
He started up, as if to follow in pursuit; but, when they gave way
to let him pass, looked wildly round upon them, staggered back, and
sunk down in his former attitude, clasping one of Grace's cold
hands in his own.
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