Home

All this Edith saw as in the village omnibus she was driven toward
home, Richard was not expecting them until the morrow, and thus no
new fires were kindled, no welcoming lights hung out, and the
house was unusually gloomy and dark. During Edith's absence
Richard had staid mostly in the library, and there he was sitting
now, with his hands folded together in that peculiarly helpless
way which characterized all his motions. He heard the sound of
wheels, the banging of trunks, and then his ear caught a footstep
it knew full well, a slow, shuffling tread, but Edith's still, and
out into the silent hall he groped his way, watching there until
she came.

How he hugged her to his bosom--never heeding that she gave him
back but one answering kiss, a cold, a frozen thing, which would
not thaw even after it touched his lips, so full of life and
warmth. Poor, deluded man! he fancied that the tears he felt upon
his face were tears of joy at being home again; but alas! alas!
they were tears wrung out by a feeling of dreary home-sickness--a
longing to be somewhere else--to have some other one than Richard
chafing her cold hands and calling her pet names. He looked older,
too, than he used to do, and Edith thought of what he once had
said about her seeing the work of decay go on in him while she yet
was young and vigorous. Still her voice was natural as she
answered his many questions and greeted Mrs. Matson who came in to
see her as soon as she heard of her arrival.