After some minutes of this silent
observation, she half turned toward me, and without entirely removing
her gaze from the apple-tree outside, she asked:--
"Do you still want to know my name?"
"Indeed I do!" I exclaimed, stepping quickly to the grating.
"Well, then," she said, "it is Sylvia."
At this moment we heard the footsteps of Sister Sarah in the hall, at
least two minutes before the usual time.
When they had gone, I stood by my study table, my arms folded and my
eyes fixed upon the floor.
"Horace Vanderley," I said to myself, "you are in love;" and to this
frank and explicit statement I answered, quite as frankly, "That is
certainly true; there can be no mistake about it."
XXI.
LUCILLA AND I.
A Saturday afternoon, evening, and night, the whole of a Sunday and its
night, with some hours of a Monday morning, intervened between the
moment at which I had acknowledged to myself my feelings toward my
secretary and the moment at which I might expect to see her again, and
nearly the whole of this time was occupied by me in endeavoring to
determine what should be my next step. To stand still in my present
position was absolutely impossible: I must go forward or backward. To go
backward was a simple thing enough; it was like turning round and
jumping down a precipice; it made me shudder.
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