‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. I believe I have always been in love with you. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. “I feel justified then,” he said, “in annexing his chair. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. But Miss Mary and me—’ Melusine looked up as the woman broke off again. ‘No, for you had your own selfish plans already made, that is now seen. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken.
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