right, Bertha?" 66 Well, do not bring us back a tawny princess, at all events. I suppose you leave early?" Yes, as early as possible. We shall catch the midday train in Ennismurray." Parting good wishes were uttered, farewells were said, the Moores got into their carriage, and the sound of the wheels smote like a death-knell on the ears of Ethna. He was gone-gone for ever out of her life; the past and future instead of being, what she had dreamed, one exquisite and harmonious whole, were to be as strangely separate as the banks of a river, with the cold, deep waters flowing between. CHAPTER XX. 66 ALL THE TO-MORROWS WILL BE AS TO-DAY." That night she lay down to rest too tired and too stunned by the abrupt annihilation of all her hopes to weep their fall. She lay long awake trying to think it all out; going over again every scene, every word and look, seeking some reason for the whole unaccountable change-a change that had ruined the beauty of her life, and left her lying there, with a despairing desire that life were at an end. The cool, grey morning was advanced before she fell into a heavy sleep which lasted far into the September day. She awoke as the clock was striking two-a dead weight was at her heart, What had she to get up for? The wide world was empty; there was nothing in it to interest her for evermore; she must get up; no one must know her misery. Oh! if people did know, it would kill her. She never could bear such humiliation. Mocked, jilted, made a fool of in one summer by the grand cousin she was so glad to show off in Beltard. Had accidental circumstances parted them, had he died, she could have borne her grief more patiently, and still cling to his memory; but he won her love, fooled her to the top of her bent, and left her without one word of explanation; she amused him simply during his stay on the hills, and how she must have amused him! The girl's hot tears burned her pale cheeks, as she glanced back at the summer e venings at Mcna; her enthusiasm, that he used to laugh at; her unconcealed love; her watching for him at the end of the western wall; the moonlit nights outside the door; picture after picture flitted before her mental vision, increasing her bitter desire after those lost hours; and again causing her to exaggerate her every word and act into crimes against maidenly reserve and decorum. She got up and dressed herself; obedient to habit, she went on her knees, listlessly repeating the prayers with her lips; her heart far from them, carried away in the rush and struggle of human passion. She descended to the breakfast-room and found Mrs. Taylor with no look of care or fatigue on her pleasant face. "Ah, Ethna, see what it is to be a moderate married woman," she said; "I did not kill myself dancing, and I am as fresh as possible. Sit down here, now, and you will have your breakfast in a moment. George has gone out hours ago. Vincent was here just now. You and Miss Butler were the belles, he says." After breakfast Ethna sat down and wrote to her mother to send for her next day. She felt it would be intolerable to have to listen, join, and appear to be interested in the inane conversations that seemed to her now like the meaningless chattering of monkeys; processes, lawcourts, politics, horses, dress, children, What did anything matter? A year ago all things had an interest for her, there were a thousand little tendril joys clinging about her sunny days, whose perfume she delighted in, but now, she turned loathing from the very sunlight shining through the window-she should get back to the solitude of the hills where she could weep unnoticed through the long desolate days, and mourn her lost happiness. Had the course of Ethna's love run smooth, she would have noticed, as she drove back to Mona, the pleasant lights and shades of the bright September day. The clouds tumbled about in the blue, grey skies; the little homesteads had a comfortable look with the stacks of corn and turf clustered about them; and the leaves fallen from an occasional tree rustled and danced along the dry road. But, as we usually see things not so much as they are, but rather according to the mood we are in, the girl saw nothing but universal gloom and decay. Nora and the dogs ran down the avenue to meet her; the Madam stood at the door to welcome her; there was general rejoicing over her return, for ten days was considered a serious absence. A grand fire burned in the cheerful sittingroom; the table was laid for dinner and everything prepared to do honour to her arrival. She gave her mother a minute account of her visit, the race and ball, who were at them, what they wore, and how they looked, pleasing the Madam very much by her description and appreciation of Vincent Talbot's generous conduct. The Madam asked about the Moores, but got such evasive and short replies that, knowing the girl's sensitiveness, she concluded that either they had not been agreeable to her, or she fancied they had not. As the evening wore on, Ethna's forced spirit died away. The Madam took it for granted she was tired, and suggested she would go to bed early, which she was only too glad to do. It is an acknowledged fact that when a person takes an intense and tender interest in one happy individual, he or she usually contrives to become disagreeable to the rest of her other fellowcreatures, or perhaps it is that said fellow-creatures feel outraged by such extreme conservatism. The selfishness of love is proverbial. The smitten maid, like the wounded deer, will retire to lonely places to brood on the beloved object, forgetful of all the little duties of home; living in the actual only when he is present to give it colour and radiance; society becomes a bore to her; friends weary her; she cannot enjoy places where he is not; and she moons about in a state of expectation that sometimes has an irritating effect on a beholder. A young man does not altogether lose his capacity for enjoyment; if his wooing be successful, perhaps it gives an additional zest to an oyster supper, for is he not going to give up such animal delights for domestic fireside ambrosia ? Still he is not the fellow he was; he is absent; he becomes unnaturally rigid in his ideas of the fair sex, of which heretofore he spoke with profane lightness and hilarity; he makes it evident that he has his thumb and forefinger on that mystical "new leaf," and becomes offensive by his assumption of wisdom and steadiness. But if successful lovers try the patience and forbearance of those around them, what is to be said of those who are crossed in their tender aspirations? Some wise and strong natures suffer and make no sign. But it must be confessed such disappointments very often have an injurious effect, sometimes on the disposition but generally on the temper of the deceived. The man will return to the oyster supper with a dangerous amount of abandon and a recklessness unfelt before. The girl will retire to solitude to indulge her propensity for tears and sighs. And, of all phases of human suffering, being "crossed in love" is the species that comes in for least amount of sympathy. It savours of the ridiculous, we incline to despise a person who continues to feel emotion for one who remains unresponsive; we wonder at the strange fatuity which keeps alive regret for one who has been proved unworthy; the consciousness we have of personal strength and self-possession makes us regard with more lofty intolerance the weakness and heart-sickness of another. Having gone through a like experience does not always soften us, for we survived it: we are none the worse for it; and we philosophically foresee our friend's emancipation from love's thraldom by-and-bye. How incalculable is the amount of sin and sorrow caused by foolish flirtation, or pretended affection! Fellow-creatures walking the same road to the same heaven, making that road more difficult and more painful to each other by deceit, changeability of purpose, or absence of purpose. Ethna Moore's feet were now in the slough of despond, and she did not make even an attempt to get out of it. She used to say to herself that her heart was dead, and would smile with bitter pleasure at the idea of having lost her capacity for feeling. Her impatience and irritability grieved her gentle mother, who could not account for the change in her bright helpful girl. "She is getting tired of Mona," she would think sadly, “she wants her own life and her own home." Ethna drooped near the parlour fire during the sad November days trying to lose a sense of her own loss in the woes of a heroine in a novel. She took an interest in nothing; the only thing she cared about was going to bed, a comfort that was lessened by the knowledge that she had to get up again. ATTIE O'BRIEN. (To be continued). BLOSSOMS. A SILVER cloud of baby-buds Breaks loose in the May air, And royally the sunshine floods The orchard everywhere. Laburnum branches of golden flame Lean down heavily sweet; Since the singing birds and the swallows came, The joy of the land's complete. Baby plays in the orchard space O gay little restless fingers fair! My innocent King with the golden hair, Sweetest of all the sweets that blow On this blossom-fading world; Half so fair, the swallows know, Never a bud uncurled. Thrushes listen to hear him sing For Baby, our flower of flowers. AGNES ROMILLY WHITE. |