He had often listened to Dexie's
playing; but he never had heard her play a piece like that, and he drew
nearer the window.
He could see her through the thin curtain that hid him from view; and as he
stood and watched her, he wondered what it was that had the power to call
up such an expression to her face. But as he looked the music suddenly
ceased, and Dexie's face was buried in her hands, and he could hear the
sobs that shook her frame. He longed to speak to her, yet dared not. He
knew he had no right even to witness her emotion, and he turned silently
and sadly away. Could he have been mistaken, after all? That one brief
moment when Dexie had looked into his eyes he felt sure of her love, and
his heart had throbbed with joy; and but for that interruption he might
even now be holding her against his breast, while he poured into her ears
the story of his love.
But her tears and grief seemed a denial of his hopes. Had thoughts of her
absent lover given her that glorified look on which he had based his hopes?
If Guy Traverse had been permitted to read a part of the letter which Dexie
penned that evening before retiring, he would not have waited so long
before testing the value of his hopes, for he would have guessed the
meaning of the words sent to "the lover over the sea.
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