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Warfield, Catherine A.

"Miriam Monfort A Novel"

Crouched in the
shadow, powerless to move or think, I heard, with inexpressible terror,
the door of the study open, and the voice and step of Bainrothe in the
hall, approaching me.
Had he heard me? Would he come? Was I betrayed?
I felt my hair rise on my head as these questions rang like a tocsin
through my brain, and I think, at that moment, I had a foretaste of the
chief agony of death.
They were answered by Bainrothe himself, as he paused midway between the
study-door and my place of refuge; and again I breathed--I lived.
"I was mistaken, 'Stasia, it is not he! the wind, probably; and that
marble looks so cold--so uninviting--shall not explore it. He has a key,
you know, and can come when he likes; for my part, I shall go in to
supper while the oysters are hot. Do as you like, though."
"Had we not better wait? You know he is sure to come to-night, bad as
the weather is, on account of that affair. It was late when Wentworth
notified him."
This was the rejoinder made from within the study, in which I
recognized the voice of Mrs. Raymond, clear and shrill.
"Well, have it as you please. If you prefer courtesy to comfort, you
shall be gratified; but what's the use of ceremony with Gregory? He will
be here in twenty minutes, Mr. Bainrothe; but don't wait. I shall have
time to sup with him before I go up-stairs, you know.


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