stillness of everything around jarred upon her nerves, instead of soothing them. She would have given the world for some one to speak to; she opened a book, but she could not keep her attention to the page; she touched her lute, but its music was distasteful; she went into the garden, but it wearied her to pace up and down the well-known walks,—"I know every plant by heart," thought she, and returned listlessly to the house. Then the ringing of the bells in the distance became so irritating—they kept perpetually distracting her mind. At length the peals ceased—dinner attracted even the ringers—and the stillness was now unbroken. But the one painful idea which had taken possession of Francesca's imagination haunted her.
"Alas!" murmured the lonely girl, "others have kindred and friends, with whom gaiety becomes indeed pleasure, for it is shared. Many a happy circle will gather together to-day, exchange hopes, and lay up recollections for months to come. But I, how neglected—how isolated do I feel! not one living being at this moment of mutual gratulations even thinks of my existence; no one knows or cares that I am sitting in melancholy seclusion, while all but myself are glad around.
