Still, however, she heard nothing of the letter, nor even when she bade her mother good night and lingered a little at the very last, hoping for one word, even though it might be a reproach, to tell her that it was from Maurice.
She had to go to her room disconsolate.

She heard Mrs.Costello go to hers, and close the door.
'Now,' she thought, 'it will be opened.

It cannot be from _him_, or mamma could not have waited so long.

But I don't know; she has such self-command! I used to fancy I could be patient at great need--and I am not one bit.' However, as waiting and listening for every sound brought her no nearer to the obtaining of her wishes, she undressed and lay down, and began to try to imagine what the letter could be.

Gradually, from thinking, she fell into dreaming, and dropped into a doze.
But before she was sound asleep, the door opened, and Mrs.Costello shading her candle with her hand, came into the room.