They walked more and
more slowly, in silence during the last few moments, after Unorna had
spoken. Unorna sighed. The passing breath traveling on the air of the
lonely place seemed both to invite and to offer sympathy.
"My father died last week," Beatrice said in a very low tone, that was
not quite steady. "I am quite alone--here and in the world."
She laid her hand upon the latch and her deep black eyes rested upon
Unorna's, as though almost, but not quite, conveying an invitation,
hungry for human comfort, yet too proud to ask it.
"I am very lonely, too," said Unorna. "May I sit with you for a while?"
She had but just time to make the bold stroke that was necessary. In
another moment she knew that Beatrice would have disappeared within. Her
heart beat violently until the answer came. She had been successful.
"Will you, indeed?" Beatrice exclaimed. "I am poor company, but I shall
be very glad if you will come in."
She opened her door, and Unorna entered. The apartment was almost
exactly like her own in size and shape and furniture, but it already
had the air of being inhabited. There were books upon the table, and a
square jewel-case, and an old silver frame containing a large photograph
of a stern, dark man in middle age--Beatrice's father, as Unorna at once
understood. Cloaks and furs lay in some confusion upon the chairs, a
large box stood with the lid raised, against the wall, displaying a
quantity of lace, among which lay silks and ribbons of soft colours.
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