Chapter 13.25 - Shirley

Separation is then quite to estrange us, is it? I do not know. Sometimes I almost fear it is. But it ought not to have that effect. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days auld lang syne? Robert, I don't forget. It is two months, I should think, Caroline, since you were at the cottage. Since I was within it, yes. Have you ever passed that way in your walk? I have come to the top of the fields sometimes of an evening and looked up. Once I saw Autence in the garden, watering her flowers. And I know at what time you light your lamp in the counting-house. I have waited for it to shine out now and then. I have seen you bend between it and the window. I knew it was you. I could almost trace the outline of your form. I wonder I never encountered you. I occasionally walk to the top of hollows fields after sunset. I know you do. I had almost spoken to you one night. You passed so near me. Did I? I passed near you and did not see you? Was I alone? I saw you twice. And neither time you were alone. Who was my companion? Probably nothing but Joe Scott or my own shadow by moonlight. No. Neither Joe Scott nor your shadow, Robert. The first time you were with Mr. York. The second time, what you call your shadow, was a shape with a white forehead and dark curls and a sparkling necklace round its neck. But I only just got a glimpse of you in that fairy shadow. I did not wait to hear you converse. It appears you walk invisible. I noticed a ring on your hand this evening. Can it be the ring of Gyges? Henceforth, when sitting in the counting house by myself, perhaps at dead of night, I shall permit myself to imagine that Caroline may be leaning over my shoulder, reading with me from the same book, or sitting at my side engaged in her own particular task, and now and then raising her unseen eyes to my face to read there my thoughts.