So I asked Ethelwyn to
walk out with me.
"I'm afraid I can't just this moment, husband," she answered. She was in
the way of using that form of address, for she said it meant everything
without saying it aloud. "I can't just this moment, for there is no one at
liberty to stay with Connie."
"O, never mind me, mamma," said Connie cheerfully. "Theodora will take care
of me," and she looked fondly at the child, who was lying by her side fast
asleep.
"There!" I said. And both, looked up surprised, for neither knew what I
meant. "I will tell you afterwards," I said, laughing. "Come along, Ethel."
"You can ring the bell, you know, Connie, if you should want anything, or
your baby should wake up and be troublesome. You won't want me long, will
you, husband?"
"I'm not sure about that. You must tell Susan to watch for the bell."
Susan was the old nurse.
Ethel put on her hooded cloak, and we went out together. I took her across
to the field where I had seen the hoary shadow. The sun had not shone out,
and I hoped it would be there to gladden her dear eyes as it had gladdened
mine; but it was gone. The warmth of the sun, without his direct rays, had
melted it away, as sacred influences will sometimes do with other shadows,
without the mind knowing any more than the grass how the shadow departed.
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