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d them, with an anxious face. "And how will it end? A fortnight later she appeared at church dressed like a lady of the Court, and attended by her sisters and their governess, as if she had never appeared unattended in her life, and prayed, good Lord, with such a majestic seriousness, and listened to the sermon with such a face as made the parson forget his text and fumble about for his notes in dire confusion. 'Twas thought she might be going to play some trick to cause him to break down in the midst of his discourse. But she did not, and sailed out of church as if she had never missed a sermon since she was born." "Perhaps," said my Lord Dunstanwolde, "perhaps her mind has changed and 'tis true she intends to live more gravely." "Nay," answered Lord Twemlow, with a troubled countenance. "No such good fortune. She doth not intend to keep it up--and how could she if she would? A girl who hath lived as she hath, seeing no decent company and with not a woman about her--though for that matter they say she has the eye of a hawk and the wit of a dozen women, and the will to do aught she chooses. But surely she could not keep it up!" "Another woman could not," said Osmonde. "A woman who had not a clear, strong brain and a wondrous determination--a woman who was weak or a fool, or even as other women, could not. But surely--for all her youth--there is no other woman like her." _CHAPTER XV_ "_And 'twas the town rake and beauty--Sir John Oxon_" That night he lay almost till 'twas morning, his eyes open upon the darkness, since he could not sleep, finding it impossible to control the thoughts which filled his mind. 'Twas a night whose still long hours he never could forget in the years that followed, and 'twas not a memory which was a happy one. He passed through many a curious phase of thought, and more than once felt a pang of sorrow that he was now alone as he had never thought of being, and that if suffering came, his silent endurance of it must be a new thing. To be silent because one does not wish to speak is a different matter from being silent because one knows no creature dear and near enough to hear the story of one's trouble. He realised now that the tender violet eyes which death had closed would have wooed from his reserve many a thing it might have been good to utter in words. "She would always have understood," he thought. "She understood when she cried out, 'It might have been!'" He clasp
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