Zoe turned pale as death. "I have lost him," said she.
"No, no," cried Fanny. "See, he has not taken his cane and umbrella."
_"They_ will not keep him from flying to his money and her," moaned Zoe.
"Did you not see? He never once looked at me. He could not. I am sick at
heart."
This set Fanny fluttering. "There, let me out to speak to him."
"Sit quiet," said Zoe, sternly.
"No; no. If you love him--"
"I do love him--passionately. And _therefore_ I'll die rather than share
him with any one."
"But it is dreadful to be fixed here, and not allowed to move hand or
foot."
"It is the lot of women. Let me feel the hand of a friend, that is all;
for I am sick at heart."
Fanny gave her her hand, and all the sympathy her shallow nature had to
bestow.
Zoe sat motionless, gripping her friend's hand almost convulsively, a
statue of female fortitude.
This suspense could not last long. The officials ordered the travelers to
the carriages; doors were opened and slammed; the engine gave a snort,
and only at that moment did Mr. Edward Severne tear the door open and
bolt into the carriage.
Oh, it was pitiable, but lovely, to see the blood rush into Zoe's face,
and the fire into her eye, and the sweet mouth expand in a smile of joy
and triumph!
She sat a moment, almost paralyzed with pleasure, and then cast her eyes
down, lest their fire should proclaim her feelings too plainly.
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