"Good-by like this! It cannot be."
"I think," she said quickly, "that if you could get out of your window,
you might come to mine and shake hands."
What a scintillating inspiration! What a girl! I had not thought of it!
In a moment I had bounded out of my window, and was standing under hers,
which was not four feet from the ground. There she was, with her
beautiful white hand already extended. I seized it in both of mine.
"Oh, Sylvia," I said, "I cannot have you go in this way. I want to tell
you--I want to tell you how"--
"You are very good," she interrupted, endeavoring slightly to withdraw
her hand, "and when the story of Tomaso and Lucilla is finished and
printed I am going to read it, rules or no rules."
"It shall never be finished," I exclaimed vehemently, "if you do not
write it," and, lifting her hand, I really believe I was about to kiss
it, when with a quick movement she drew it from me.
"She is coming," she said; "good-by! good-by!" and with a wave of her
hand she was gone from the window.
I did not return to my study. I stood by the side of the house, with my
fists clenched and my eyes set. Then, suddenly, I ran to the garden
wall; looking over it, I saw, far down the shaded village street, two
gray figures walking away.
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