"Oh, Frank!" she
murmured, "but for you, what a wretch I might be!" Her eager fingers
snatched the little white silk bag from its hiding-place in her bosom;
her lips devoured it with silent kisses. "My darling! my angel! Oh,
Frank, how I love you!" The tears gushed into her eyes. She passionately
dried them, restored the bag to its place, and turned her back on the
looking-glass. "No more of myself," she thought; "no more of my mad,
miserable self for to-day!"
Shrinking from all further contemplation of her next step in
advance--shrinking from the fast-darkening future, with which Noel
Vanstone was now associated in her inmost thoughts--she looked
impatiently about the room for some homely occupation which might take
her out of herself. The disguise which she had flung down between the
wall and the bed recurred to her memory. It was impossible to leave it
there. Mrs. Wragge (now occupied in sorting her parcels) might weary
of her employment, might come in again at a moment's notice, might pass
near the bed, and see the gray cloak. What was to be done?
Her first thought was to put the disguise back in her trunk. But after
what had happened, there was danger in trusting it so near to herself
while she and Mrs.
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