As usual, Isabella
met Henry with a smile, and expressed her fears regarding his
health.
Hours passed, and still old Mrs. Miller remained near the house,
determined to know who lived there. When she undertook to ferret
out anything, she bent her whole energies to it. As Michael
Angelo, who subjected all things to his pursuit and the idea he
had formed of it, painted the crucifixion by the side of a
writhing slave and would have broken up the true cross for
pencils, so Mrs. Miller would have entered the sepulchre, if she
could have done it, in search of an object she wished to find.
The full moon had risen, and was pouring its beams upon surrounding
objects as Henry stepped from Isabella's door, and looking at his
watch, said,--
"I must go, dear; it is now half-past ten."
Had little Clotelle been awake, she too would have been at the
door. As Henry walked to the gate, Isabella followed with her left
hand locked in his. Again he looked at his watch, and said, "I
must go."
"It is more than a year since you staid all night," murmured
Isabella, as he folded her convulsively in his arms, and pressed
upon her beautiful lips a parting kiss.
He was nearly out of sight when, with bitter sobs, the quadroon
retraced her steps to the door of the cottage. Clotelle had in the
mean time awoke, and now inquired of her mother how long her
father had been gone. At that instant, a knock was heard at the
door, and supposing that it was Henry returning for something he
had forgotten, as he frequently did, Isabella flew to let him in.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64