But the anguish of suspense soon drew him
back again; and now his speech was changed, and he said--
'Yes, she's gone--she's gone--oh, she's gone--she's certainly gone.'
He found himself at the drawing-room window that looked into the little
garden at the front of the house, and tapping at the window-pane. He
remembered, all on a sudden--it was like waking--how strange was such a
summons. A little after he saw a light crossing the hall, and he rang
the door-bell. John Tracy opened the door. Yes, it was all true.
The captain was looking very pale, John thought, but otherwise much as
usual. He stared at the old servant for some seconds after he told him
all, but said nothing, not even good-night, and turned away. Old John
was crying; but he called after the captain to take care of the step at
the gate: and as he shut the hall-door his eye caught, by the light of
his candle, a scribbling in red chalk, on the white door-post, and he
stooped to read it, and muttered, 'Them mischievous young blackguards!'
and began rubbing it with the cuff of his coat, his cheek still wet with
tears. For even our grief is volatile; or, rather, it is two tunes that
are in our ears together, the requiem of the organ, and, with it, the
faint hurdy-gurdy jig of our vulgar daily life; and now and then this
latter uppermost.
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