It seemed to me that
heaven could mean nothing more than to roll creaking along
country roads, in Parnassus, with the Professor beside me on
the seat. What if I had known him only--how long was it? He
had brought the splendour of an ideal into my humdrum life.
And now--had I lost it forever? Andrew and the farm seemed
faint and far away. I was a homely old woman, mortally lonely
and helpless. In my perplexity I walked to the outskirts of
the village and burst into tears.
Finally I got a grip on myself again. I am not ashamed to say
that I now admitted frankly what I had been hiding from
myself. I was in love--in love with a little, red-bearded
bookseller who seemed to me more splendid than Sir Galahad.
And I vowed that if he would have me, I would follow him to
the other end of nowhere.
I walked back to the hotel. I thought I would make one more
try to get Andrew on the telephone. My whole soul quivered
when at last I heard the receiver click.
"Hello?" said Andrew's voice.
"Oh, Andrew," I said, "this is Helen."
"Where are you?" (His voice sounded cross.)
"Andrew, is there any--any message from Mr. Mifflin? That
wreck yesterday--he might have been on that train--I've been
so frightened; do you think he was--hurt?"
"Stuff and nonsense," said Andrew.
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