Her presence was
agitating; she had but to enter the room and sit in silence, and
Adela forthwith was raised from the depression of her broodings to a
vividness of being, an imaginative energy, such as she had never
known. Adela doubted for some time whether Stella regarded her with
affection; the little demonstrations in which women are wont to
indulge were incompatible with that grave dreaminess, and Stella
seemed to avoid even the common phrases of friendship. But one day,
when Adela had not been well enough to rise, and as she lay on the
borderland of sleeping and waking, she half dreamt, half knew, that
a face bent over her, and that lips were pressed against her own;
and such a thrill struck through her that, though now fully
conscious, she had not power to stir, but lay as in the moment of
some rapturous death. For when the presence entered into her dream,
when the warmth melted upon her lips, she imagined it the kiss which
might once have come to her but now was lost for ever. It was pain
to open her eyes, but when she did so, and met Stella's silent gaze,
she knew that love was offered her, a love of which it was needless
to speak.
Mrs. Waltham was rather afraid of Stella; privately she doubted
whether the poor thing was altogether in her perfect mind. When the
visitor came the mother generally found occupation or amusement
elsewhere, conversation with Stella was so extremely difficult.
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