life
anew.
They reached New York. If Mr. Liston had indeed been the fondest of
uncles, he could not have been more affectionately solicitous for the
welfare and comfort of his charge. She was indifferent to it
all--unconscious of it indeed, looking upon all things with dull,
half-sightless eyes.
"Take good care of her, Mrs. Wilkins," he said to his landlady; "she is
ailing, as you can see, and don't let her be disturbed or annoyed in my
absence. She has had trouble lately, and is not like herself."
It was a shabby-genteel boarding-house, in a shabby-genteel street,
close upon East Broadway. At first "Mrs. Liston" had her meals served in
her room, and spent her time, for all Mrs. Wilkins could see, in sitting
at the window, with idly-lying hands, gazing out into the dull street.
Mr. Liston was absent the chief part of the day, and Mrs. Liston
steadfastly kept her room; but in the evenings, always closely veiled,
Mrs. Wilkins observed he could prevail upon her to go out with him for a
walk. He was kind to her, the girl vaguely felt--she would obey him, at
least; and, since she could not die and make an end of it all, why, she
might as well take a little exercise for her health's sake. He was very
good to her, but she felt no gratitude--it was not for her sake, but for
the sake of the grudge he owed their mutual foe. Their mutual foe! Did
she hate Laurence Thorndyke she wondered. There were times when her
very soul grew sick with longing for the sight of his face, the tone of
his voice, the touch of his hand, and the sound of his name from Mr.
Liston's lips had power to thrill her to the inmost heart still.
Gradually, as the weeks passed, matters changed.
"Time, that blunts the edge of things,
Dries our tears and spoils our bliss,"
was quietly at work for Norine. She came down to the public table, and
the pale, spirituelle beauty of the invisible and mysterious Mrs. Liston
caused a profound sensation among the boarders. Next, she took to
spending the long afternoons in the dingy boarding-house parlor, playing
upon the jingling, toneless boarding-house piano such melodies of
mournful sweetness that Mrs. Wilkins and her handmaidens of the kitchen
paused in their work, to listen, and wonder, and admire.
"That young woman has seen trouble," Mrs. Wilkins said, shaking her
head. She had her own opinion--a pretty correct one--of what nature that
trouble was; but her beauty and her youth were there to plead
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