Just so when I recall that scene--little heed as I took at the time of
them--every gesture, and look, and tone of Forrester's becomes as
distinct as if he stood in the body before me now. I can see him
standing in the shadow of the doorway, the red glare from the blazing
wood with which he was lighting his cigar falling over his delicate
features and bright chestnut hair--I can hear his kind soft voice as he
speaks these last two words, "_Al rivederci_."
Whether that wish will be accomplished hereafter, God alone can tell; if
so, it must be beyond the grave. In life we never saw him any more.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
"But time at length makes all things even,
And if we do but bide the hour,
There never yet was human power
That could evade, if unforgiven,
The patient search and vigil long
Of him who treasures up a wrong."
Three quarters of an hour later, Guy was sitting in his room, gazing at
the embers on the hearth, in the attitude of moody thought that of late
he was apt to fall into. Suddenly there came a timid knock at his door.
When he opened it, his cousin stood on the threshold--ghost-like,
against the background of darkness, with her white dressing-gown, pale
cheeks, and long hair unbound.
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