Save that no love conceived virtuously, for a good woman, be it ever so hopeless, can be rightly considered as a curse.
"Shall we go away ?" I whispered--"a long walk--to the other side of the Flat?
She will have left Rose Cottage soon." "When ?" "Before noon, I heard.

Come, David." He suffered me to put my arm in his, and draw him away for a step or two, then turned.
"I can't, Phineas, I can't! I MUST look at her again--only for one minute--one little minute." But he stayed--we were standing where she could not see us--till she had slowly left the grave.

We heard the click of the churchyard gate: where she went afterward we could not discern.
John moved away.

I asked him if we should take our walk now?
But he did not seem to hear me; so I let him follow his own way--perhaps it might be for good--who could tell?
He descended from the Flat, and came quickly round the corner of the cottage.

Miss March stood there, trying to find one fresh rose among the fast-withering clusters about what had been our parlour window and now was hers.
She saw us, acknowledged us, but hurriedly, and not without some momentary signs of agitation.
"The roses are all gone," she said rather sadly.
"Perhaps, higher up, I can reach one--shall I try ?" I marvelled to see that John's manner as he addressed her was just like his manner always with her.
"Thank you--that will do.