She was already in a white cashmere wrapper, over which her
loosened hair hung darkly and heavily, like tangles of silk.
"Rosa, love," she whispered, "Minnie and I can't bear the idea of
your sleeping out there, all alone, in that solitary room--the very
room too Nurse Sherrard used to talk about! So, as you know Minnie
has given up her room, and come to sleep in mine, still we should
so wish you to stop with us to-night at any rate, and I could make
up a bed on the sofa for myself or you--and--" I stopped Lucy's
mouth with a kiss. I declined her offer. I would not listen to
it. In fact, my pride was up in arms, and I felt I would rather
pass the night in the churchyard itself than accept a proposal
dictated, I felt sure, by the notion that my nerves were shaken by
the ghostly lore we had been raking up, that I was a weak,
superstitious creature, unable to pass a night in a strange
chamber. So I would not listen to Lucy, but kissed her, bade her
good-night, and went on my way laughing, to show my light heart.
Yet, as I looked back in the dark corridor, and saw the friendly
door still ajar, the yellow bar of light still crossing from wall
to wall, the sweet, kind face still peering after me from amidst
its clustering curls, I felt a thrill of sympathy, a wish to
return, a yearning after human love and companionship.
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