“I will tell you all that I know,” Anna said. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. She did not want to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be, they would be only curious strangers.
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