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Neither, I felt convinced, had Mrs. Strong then. Several
weeks elapsed before I saw the least change in her. It came
on slowly, like a cloud when there is no wind. At first, she
seemed to wonder at the gentle compassion with which the
Doctor spoke to her, and at his wish that she should have
her mother with her, to relieve the dull monotony of her
life. Often, when we were at work, and she was sitting by, I
would see her pausing and looking at him with that memo-
rable face. Afterwards, I sometimes observed her rise, with
her eyes full of tears, and go out of the room. Gradually, an
unhappy shadow fell upon her beauty, and deepened every
day. Mrs. Markleham was a regular inmate of the cottage
then; but she talked and talked, and saw nothing.
As this change stole on Annie, once like sunshine in the
Doctor’s house, the Doctor became older in appearance,
and more grave; but the sweetness of his temper, the placid
kindness of his manner, and his benevolent solicitude for
her, if they were capable of any increase, were increased. I
saw him once, early on the morning of her birthday, when
she came to sit in the window while we were at work (which
she had always done, but now began to do with a timid and
uncertain air that I thought very touching), take her fore-
head between his hands, kiss it, and go hurriedly away, too
much moved to remain. I saw her stand where he had left
her, like a statue; and then bend down her head, and clasp
her hands, and weep, I cannot say how sorrowfully.
Sometimes, after that, I fancied that she tried to speak
even to me, in intervals when we were left alone. But she
never uttered a word. The Doctor always had some new