I must not even dwell upon the memory of what might have been, for I
was pretty sure to marry some one else, and then Ernest Dalton could
never come back to me in any other light than that of a devoted
friend. "I have saved myself in time," said my thought, as I stood up
and went away from the window, "a day might have come when to give him
up would be to renounce the happiness of my whole life--that day that
I had sometimes fondly, though vainly, dreamed of, with all its
witching possibilities and which now lay crumbled to dust at my feet.
"What else could I expect?" said I, with a weary sigh, "Is not pain
the fate of the great majority, is not sorrow the portion of the
children of men?" Anyhow, I was not likely to see Mr. Dalton ever
again. I had sent him his locket, with a few words explaining that
"_it had been found_ in the library, and _being identified_ as his, I
was happy to return it, hoping that its temporary loss had not caused
him uneasiness or worry."
I thought that was the best way of returning it, under the
circumstances, and the safest for me, it would prevent any awkward
explanations, and accomplish the chief end as effectually as a
personal interview. This opinion, however, was not Mr. Dalton's, for as
I turned from the window I could hear the shrill ringing of a bell
below, and a moment later Hannah came to announce--
"Mr. Dalton!"
"I cannot see him!" I said, "I am busy and tired--and--tell him, I do
not see any one, that will do!"
"Miss Amelia, I think you'd better come," old Hannah suggested, with a
respectful, suasive tone, "he says he is the oldest friend you have,
and so interested in your welfare, you might show him a little more
deference, that's just what he said, when he saw me looking reluctant
about obeying his wish.
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