My life would be a miserable
mockery. To see her there near me, at the window, in the street; to see
her tresses in the sunlight, her little slipper as it flits through the
flower-enveloped gate; to feel that she is near me, but lost to me! Never
could I endure it! But what can I do? Is there anything that can move her?
--Ah! that may! Let me try it. Oh, fortunate accident. To-morrow, or very
soon--very soon!
VIII.
A week after my rejection, I went up to my chamber, and drew from the
depths of my wardrobe, the old coat which Annie had mended. I had promised
her to preserve it. I had kept my promise. Yes, there it was, just as I
had worn it at the hall--my shabby old coat of five years ago! I put it
on, smiling, and surveyed myself in a mirror. It was strangely
old-fashioned; but I did not think of that. I seemed to have returned, all
at once, to the past; its atmosphere embraced me; all its flowers bloomed
gaily before my eyes.
I looked at the hole in the elbow. There were Annie's stitches--her
fingers had clasped the worn, decayed cloth--the old garment had rested on
her arm!
I think I must have gazed at the coat for an hour, motionless in the
sunlight, and thinking of old days.
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