He had been subject to
headaches all his life, but he had never suffered as he was suffering
now but once, and that was on a rainy day in Rome, when, boasting of
her mesmeric power, Lucy had stood by him, and passed her dimpled
hands soothingly across his throbbing temples.
Those little hands, how soft and cool they were--but they had not
thrilled him as the touch of Anna's did when they hung the Christmas
wreaths and she wore that bunch of scarlet berries in her hair.
That time seemed very far away, farther even than Rome and the
moonlight nights of Venice. He did not like to think of it, for the
bright hopes which were budding then were blighted now and dead; and,
with a moan, he laid his aching head upon his pillow and tried to
forget all he had ever hoped or longed for in the future.
"She will marry Thornton Hastings. He is a more eligible match than a
poor clergyman," he said, and then, as he remembered Thornton's
letter, and that his man Thomas would be coming soon to ask if there
were letters to be taken to the office, he arose, and, going to the
study table, wrote hastily:
"DEAR THORNE: I am suffering from one of those horrid headaches
which used to make me as weak as a helpless woman, but I will
write just enough to say that I have no claim on Anna Ruthven,
and you are free to press your suit as urgently as you please.
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