But I might have known that she could not,
all at once, wean herself from the trumpery.
A minute later Clesta ushered in the man who was to take the trunks, and
when I had given him his directions, I asked:--
"Shall we go, Nelly?"
"If ye ain't reconciled to movin'--" Mr. Winship began.
But Helen answered neither of us. Her eyes were bent upon the floor, and a
look, not now of resentment, but of--was it fear?--had slowly crept upon
her face. Her hands were clenched.
Darmstetter! Instinct--or memory of my careless words spoken but a little
earlier--told me the truth. The growing pallor of her cheek spoke her
thought. How that tragedy haunts her! The face I looked upon was at the
last almost ghastly.
"Nelly--" I said, very gently.
She looked around with the slow bewilderment that I once saw on the face
of a sleep-walker. Her eyes saw through us, and past us, fixed upon some
invisible horror. She was heedless of the familiar scene, the figures
grouped about her. Then there came a sudden flush to her face, a quick
recoil of terror; she shuddered as if waking from a nightmare.
"Why do we stay here?" she cried starting up with sudden, panic strength.
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