She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. As he balanced the photograph, a humorous twinkle came into his eyes. One marked difference between the poor outcast, who, oppressed by poverty, and stung by shame, had sought temporary relief in the stupifying draught,—that worst "medicine of a mind diseased,"—and those of the same being, freed from her vices, and restored to comfort and contentment, if not to happiness, by a more prosperous course of events, was exhibited in the mouth. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo.
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