I had to go at a moment’s notice. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. I followed, taking up hunting so that way I could track you, to make sure you would become well again. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle.
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