"If he come not then the play is marred: it goes not forward,
doth it?"
_Midsummer Night's Dream._
Miss Christie Grant, sitting with Emily at ten o'clock in the morning,
heard a ring at the bell, which she thought she knew. She pricked up her
head to listen, and as it ceased tinkling she bustled out of the room.
The first virtue of a companion in Miss Christie Grant's view, was to
know how to be judiciously absent.
"Mr. Mortimer."
Emily was writing, when she looked up on hearing these words, and saw
John Mortimer advancing. Of course she had been thinking of him,
thinking with much more hope than heretofore, but also with much more
pride.
When he had stood remote, the object of such an impassioned, and to her,
hitherto, such an unknown love, which transformed him and everything
about him, and imparted to him such an almost unbearable charm--a power
to draw her nearer and nearer without knowing it, or wanting her at
all--she had felt that she could die for him, but she had not hoped to
live for him, and spend a happy life at his side.
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