The house was very quiet,
and a little flag hung out of Nancy's window, showing that the child was
asleep. He therefore approached quietly, entered the library, and
feeling very tired and disquieted, sat down among his books. He took one
down, and did not know how long he might have been trying to occupy
himself with it, when he heard the rustle of a silk dress, and Dorothea
stood in the open window. She looked just a little hurried and shy.
"Oh, Mr. Mortimer," she began, "Emily sent her love to you, and----"
"Emily sent her love to me?" he exclaimed almost involuntarily, "sent
her love? are you sure?"
Dorothea, thus checked in her message, drew back and blushed--had she
made herself very ridiculous? would Emily be displeased? His eyes seemed
to entreat her for an answer. She faltered, not without exceeding
surprise, at the state of things thus betrayed, and at his indifference
to her observation. "I suppose she did. I thought all this family sent
love to one another." Thus while she hesitated, and he seemed still to
wait for her further recollection, she noticed the strange elation of
hope and joy that illumined his face.
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