He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. " "Jack, my love," cried Mrs. 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. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. ‘Certainly you are imbecile. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. 1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg-tm License.
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