I mention this here, for it reconciled me
later, somewhat, to an inevitable separation, that must have been else
thrice bitter. But the culmination approaches!
I was lying, one evening, on a deep velvet couch in the library, now
rarely used except for business purposes--for, again, fires and lights
sparkled, in their respective seasons, in the several receiving-rooms of
Monfort Hall, maintained by Evelyn's bounty--when, overpowered by the
influence of the hour, and the weariness of my own unprofitable
thoughts, and perhaps the dreary play of Racine's that I was reading, I
dropped asleep.
The sofa was placed in a deep embrasure, surrounded with sweeping
curtains, for the convenience of reading in a reclining posture, by the
light of the window, and quite shut away, by such means, from the
remainder of the room.
To-night, a chilly one in August, very unusual for that season, the
window was down, and the drawn curtains kept off the light of the dim
lamp that swung from the centre of the apartment immediately above the
octagon centre-table.
I was roused to full consciousness by the sound of voices, which I had
heard indistinctly mingling with my dreams for some time before.
Mr. Bainrothe and Evelyn were conversing or discussing some subject,
somewhat angrily.
"You had the lion's share," I heard him say; "you have no reason to
complain.
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