sequence of her recent loss was, that any return of gay spirits seemed—as it ever seems at first to grief—sacrilege to the memory of the dead; whereas the remembrance of Lorraine was so unallied to hope, that the sadness of her love was meet companion for the sorrow of her affection.
A long melancholy winter passed away, and Emily looked quite pale, and thin enough to justify her aunt's frequent and pleasant predictions, that she was either in a consumption or in love; both which were duly ascribed to her London visit. Mrs. Arundel recommended warm milk from the cow; and Mrs. Clarke turned in her mind the advantages of another lover.
Mrs. Arundel's lacteal plan came to nothing. Emily was "as obstinate as her poor dear uncle," and could never be persuaded or coaxed to rise on a raw cold morning—not for all the benefits of the milky way. Mrs. Clarke's sentimental system had its consequences.
It was one of those bright soft mornings,
"Like angel visits, few and far between,"
when spring and sunshine take February by surprise—when one faint tinge of green is seen on the southern side of the hedge—when every
