The
idea pleased Polly, albeit it was a "fearful joy" and attended with some
cold shivering. Naturally, as a gentleman, he would appear to HER--the
daughter of a gentleman--the successor to his house--rather than to
a Yankee stranger. What was she to do? For once her calm nerves were
strangely thrilled; she could not think of undressing and going to
bed, and two o'clock surprised her, still meditating, and occasionally
peeping from her window upon the moonlit but vacant garden. If she saw
him again, would she dare to go down alone? Suddenly she started to
her feet with a beating heart! There was the unmistakable sound of a
stealthy footstep in the passage, coming towards her room. Was it he? In
spite of her high resolves she felt that if the door opened she should
scream! She held her breath--the footsteps came nearer--were before her
door--and PASSED!
Then it was that the blood rushed back to her cheek with a flush of
indignation. Her room was at the end of the passage; there was nothing
beyond but a private staircase, long disused, except by herself, as a
short cut through the old patio to the garden.
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