from his floor for ever. When next she trod there, it would be as a visitor. The long and lonely evenings that he would have to pass—no fair and cherished face to raise up images of hope and affection, whenever he chanced to look in its direction—alas! how many other ties must be broken to link the strong and engrossing one of love! She felt this most keenly when, after Charles Aubyn had led Lucy away, they themselves took their departure, and she saw Lawrence Aylmer walk slowly down the garden with a loitering step, and saw more than once his hand dashed across his eyes, as if for him there remained no object in the world. Pity became a far truer feeling than congratulation.
It is a painful thing to think how the purest and dearest tie that can exist—that which binds the parent to the child, and the child to the parent—is doomed to sever by the very course of nature: that a new and vivid emotion will inevitably enter the heart of youth—and before that emotion, how cold and faint seems all that was held precious before! And yet, so inextricably blended are happiness and sorrow on our earth, that fortunate, thrice fortunate, are they who have such ties to sever.
"You seem quite out of spirits to-day," said
