I started up, pushed my letter into my portfolio, and wiped away my tears, quite frightened that Richard should see me crying.

To my surprise, he came hurriedly down the stairs, passed the parlor-door, opened the hall-door, and shutting it heavily after him, was gone, without a word to me.

This startled me for a moment, it was so unusual.

But my heart was not enough engaged to be wounded by the slight, and I very soon returned to my letter and my other thoughts.
When I went up to bed, I stopped in the library, and found the lamp still burning, the pens unused, a cigar, which had been lighted, but unsmoked, lying on the table.

A book was lying on the floor at the foot of the bookshelf, where I had left Richard standing.