Do not fear, my darling.

I shall be able to convince you very soon." She made Ida sit down, and then went to an ancient secretary, that stood in a corner of the room, and unlocked a drawer, the key to which she always carried on her person.
Paul remembered from the time he was a little boy seeing her open this drawer on Sunday afternoons and cry over the keepsakes which it contained.
She took out now a bundle of letters, a piece of ribbon, a locket, a bunch of faded flowers, and a few other trifles, and brought them to Ida.
Paul left the room on tiptoe.

This was a scene where a third person, one might almost say a second person, would be an interloper.
When, a long time after, he returned, Miss Ludington was sitting in the chair where Ida had been sitting, smiling and crying, and the girl, with eyes that shone like stars, was bending over her, and kissing the tears away.
The night was now almost spent, and the early dawn of midsummer, peering through the windows, and already dimming the lights, warned them that the day would soon be at hand.
"You shall have your own bedroom," said Miss Ludington.

The face of the old lady was flushed, and her high-pitched and tremulous voice betrayed an exhilaration like that of intoxication.

"You will excuse me for having cluttered it up with my things; to-morrow I will take them away.