Page 911 - bleak-house

mine. I took a candle and went softly in to fetch it from its
shelf. After I had it in my hand, I saw my beautiful darling,
through the open door, lying asleep, and I stole in to kiss
her.
It was weak in me, I know, and I could have no reason
for crying; but I dropped a tear upon her dear face, and an-
other, and another. Weaker than that, I took the withered
flowers out and put them for a moment to her lips. I thought
about her love for Richard, though, indeed, the flowers had
nothing to do with that. Then I took them into my own
room and burned them at the candle, and they were dust
in an instant.
On entering the breakfast-room next morning, I found
my guardian just as usual, quite as frank, as open, and free.
There being not the least constraint in his manner, there
was none (or I think there was none) in mine. I was with
him several times in the course of the morning, in and out,
when there was no one there, and I thought it not unlikely
that he might speak to me about the letter, but he did not
say a word.
So, on the next morning, and the next, and for at least a
week, over which time Mr. Skimpole prolonged his stay. I
expected, every day, that my guardian might speak to me
about the letter, but he never did.
I thought then, growing uneasy, that I ought to write an
answer. I tried over and over again in my own room at night,
but I could not write an answer that at all began like a good
answer, so I thought each night I would wait one more day.
And I waited seven more days, and he never said a word.

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