He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. 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. “Oh, please. "There he is!" cried Winifred, starting up, joyfully, and proving by the exclamation that her thoughts were dwelling upon one subject only. Finally she fell into reflection. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. ’ Gerald was relieved to hear the loud guffaw issuing from the old man’s lips. But it's an odd case. . “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. "Mr. You can, too, if you wish. But he would die if he continued in this course. This at once thrilled her and worried her.
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