But it had to be done, and he did it. A
few sad and solemn words were spoken between him and the Mordaunts, and
the girls left the room in tears. Then he advanced to Lydia Graham, who
was seated in an arm-chair by the fire, still, and pale as a marble
statue. There were no tears in her eyes, no traces of tears upon her
cheeks, but in her heart there was angry, bitter, raging
disappointment--almost fury, almost despair.
Douglas Dale could not look at her without seeing that in very truth
the event which was so terrible to him was terrible to her also, and
his manly heart yearned towards the woman whom he had thought but
little of until now; who had perhaps loved, and certainly now was
grieving for, his beloved brother.
"Shall we ever meet again, Mr. Dale?" she said, wonderingly.
"Why should we not?"
"You will not be able to endure England, perhaps, after this terrible
calamity. You will go abroad. You will seek distraction in change of
scene. Men are such travellers now-a-days."
"I shall not leave England, Miss Graham," answered Douglas, quietly; "I
am a man of the world--I venture to hope that I am also a Christian--
and I can nerve myself to endure grief as a Christian and a man of the
world should endure it. My brother's death will make no alteration in
the plan of my life. I shall return to London almost immediately."
"And we may hope to see you in London?"
"Captain Graham and I are members of the same club.
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