My sister had never been able to speak to Ideala on the
subject, but she did not cease to urge me to expostulate, and she had
suggested many arguments which had affected Ideala, and made her
unhappy, but without altering her determination.
I could not find a word to say to her that morning, and during the slow
hours of the long day that dragged itself on so wearily for all of us,
nothing new occurred to me.
"It will be a relief when it is over," I said to my sister.
"Yes," she answered; "it is worse than death."
In the evening she came to my study and said: "Ideala is alone in the
south drawing-room. I wish you would go to her, and make a last effort
to dissuade her."
I consented, hopelessly, and went.
Ideala was standing in a window, looking out listlessly. She was very
pale, and I could see that she had been weeping. I sat down near the
fire; and presently she came and sat on the floor beside me, and laid
her head against my knee. In all the years of my love for her she had
never been so close to me before, and I was glad to let her rest a
long, long time like that.
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