Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. For so far she had kept it uncashed. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said.
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