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ng akin to it, and that he had disappointed her in a way which had never been told. No stranger, save in the capacity of the one beloved, could wound a woman sufficiently to make her weep, and it followed that Christopher was the man of Picotee's choice. As Ethelberta recalled the conversations, conclusion after conclusion came like pulsations in an aching head. 'O, how did it happen, and who is to blame?' she exclaimed. 'I cannot doubt his faith, and I cannot doubt hers; and yet how can I keep doubting them both?' It was characteristic of Ethelberta's jealous motherly guard over her young sisters that, amid these contending inquiries, her foremost feeling was less one of hope for her own love than of championship for Picotee's. 23. ETHELBERTA'S HOUSE (continued) Picotee was heard on the stairs: Ethelberta covered her face. 'Is he waiting?' she said faintly, on finding that Picotee did not begin to speak. 'No; he is gone,' said Picotee. 'Ah, why is that?' came quickly from under the handkerchief. 'He has forgotten me--that's what it is!' 'O no, he has not!' said Picotee, just as bitterly. Ethelberta had far too much heroism to let much in this strain escape her, though her sister was prepared to go any lengths in the same. 'I suppose,' continued Ethelberta, in the quiet way of one who had only a headache the matter with her, 'that he remembered you after the meeting at Anglebury?' 'Yes, he remembered me.' 'Did you tell me you had seen him before that time?' 'I had seen him at Sandbourne. I don't think I told you.' 'At whose house did you meet him?' 'At nobody's. I only saw him sometimes,' replied Picotee, in great distress. Ethelberta, though of all women most miserable, was brimming with compassion for the throbbing girl so nearly related to her, in whom she continually saw her own weak points without the counterpoise of her strong ones. But it was necessary to repress herself awhile: the intended ways of her life were blocked and broken up by this jar of interests, and she wanted time to ponder new plans. 'Picotee, I would rather be alone now, if you don't mind,' she said. 'You need not leave me any light; it makes my eyes ache, I think.' Picotee left the room. But Ethelberta had not long been alone and in darkness when somebody gently opened the door, and entered without a candle. 'Berta,' said the soft voice of Picotee again, 'may I come in?' 'O yes,' said E
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