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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 200 pages of information about A Dark Night's Work.

Ellinor longed to ask if her father had yet shown himself; but this question—­so natural at any other time—­seemed to her so suspicious under the circumstances, that she could not bring her lips to frame it.  At any rate, she must get up and struggle to make the day like all other days.  So she rose, confessing that she did not feel very well, but trying to make light of it, and when she could think of anything but the one awe, to say a trivial sentence or two.  But she could not recollect how she behaved in general, for her life hitherto had been simple, and led without any consciousness of effect.

Before she was dressed, a message came up to say that Mr. Livingstone was in the drawing-room.

Mr. Livingstone!  He belonged to the old life of yesterday!  The billows of the night had swept over his mark on the sands of her memory; and it was only by a strong effort that she could remember who he was—­what he wanted.  She sent Mason down to inquire from the servant who admitted him whom it was that he had asked for.

“He asked for master first.  But master has not rung for his water yet, so James told him he was not up.  Then he took thought for a while, and asked could he speak to you, he would wait if you were not at liberty but that he wished particular to see either master, or you.  So James asked him to sit down in the drawing-room, and he would let you know.”

“I must go,” thought Ellinor.  “I will send him away directly; to come, thinking of marriage to a house like this—­to-day, too!”

And she went down hastily, and in a hard unsparing mood towards a man, whose affection for her she thought was like a gourd, grown up in a night, and of no account, but as a piece of foolish, boyish excitement.

She never thought of her own appearance—­she had dressed without looking in the glass.  Her only object was to dismiss her would-be suitor as speedily as possible.  All feelings of shyness, awkwardness, or maiden modesty, were quenched and overcome.  In she went.

He was standing by the mantelpiece as she entered.  He made a step or two forward to meet her; and then stopped, petrified, as it were, at the sight of her hard white face.

“Miss Wilkins, I am afraid you are ill!  I have come too early.  But I have to leave Hamley in half an hour, and I thought—­Oh, Miss Wilkins! what have I done?”

For she sank into the chair nearest to her, as if overcome by his words; but, indeed, it was by the oppression of her own thoughts:  she was hardly conscious of his presence.

He came a step or two nearer, as if he longed to take her in his arms and comfort and shelter her; but she stiffened herself and arose, and by an effort walked towards the fireplace, and there stood, as if awaiting what he would say next.  But he was overwhelmed by her aspect of illness.  He almost forgot his own wishes, his own suit, in his desire to relieve her from the pain, physical as he believed it, under which she was suffering.  It was she who had to begin the subject.

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