But Van Berg was thoroughly puzzled. While as he felt
hen he would have gladly drawn encouragement from it, and perhaps
did so to some extent, he still felt there was something peculiar
in her manner, of which he seemed the occasion, but was not the
adequate cause.
Miss Burton soon after sought her room, and for a few moments paced
it in deep disquiet, and her whole form seemed to become tense and
rigid. In low tones she communed with herself:
"Is my will so weak? Shall I continue betraying myself at any
unexpected moment? Shall I show to strangers something that I
would hide from all eyes save those of God? Let me realize it at
once, and so maintain self-control henceforth. This is an illusion--a
mere trick of my overwrought mind; and yet it seemed so like---"
A passion of grief interrupted further words. Such bitter,
uncontrollable sorrow in one so young was terrible. She writhed
and struggled with this anguish for a time as helplessly as if she
were in the grasp of a giant.
At last she grew calm. There were no tears in her eyes. She
was beyond such simple and natural expression of sorrow. She had
ready tears for the troubles of others, but now her eyes were dry
and feverish.
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