"
"Men never rush at conclusions, do they?"
"No: of course not."
"Very well, then: arrive at your conclusion as leisurely as you
like. It is none the less certain."
"Pshaw!" remarked Mr. Burroughs; and as his cousin laughingly turned
to bend over Sunshine, and help her read her story-book, he took his
hat and went out, turning his steps toward the glen.
Not till he reached its deepest recesses, however, did he find Dora;
and then he stood still to look at her, himself unseen. But what a
white, dumb look of anguish upon the sweet face! what clouds, heavy
with coming showers, upon the brow! what rainy lights in the
upturned eyes! what a resistless sorrow in the downward curve of the
lips, ordinarily so firm and cheerful! Even the shapely hands,
tightly folded, and firmly set upon the knee, told their story,--even
the rigid lines and constrained attitude of the figure. Mr.
Burroughs's first impulse was artistic; and he longed to be a
sculptor, that he might model an immortal statue of Silent Grief.
The second was human; and he longed to comfort a sorrow at whose
cause he already guessed, and yet guessed but half. The third was
less creditable, but perhaps as probable, in a man of Mr.
Burroughs's temperament and education; for it was to study and
dissect this new phase of the young girl's character.
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