To avoid hearing it
talked of, William Dulan sedulously kept out of company. He had never
seen Alice since she became Lady Hilden. Dr. Keene had removed with
his family from Bay Grove, and the principal government and emolument
of the school had devolved upon young Dulan. The Christmas holidays
were at hand, and he resolved to take advantage of the opportunity
offered by them, to remove his mother to Bay Grove. On the last
evening of his stay, something in the circumstance brought back
forcibly to his mind his last conversation with Alice--that
conversation had also taken place on the eve of a journey; and the
association of ideas awakened, together with the belief that he would
never again have an opportunity of beholding her, irresistibly
impelled him to seek an interview with Alice.
Twilight was fast fading into night. Lady Hilden stood alone, gazing
out from the window of her uncle's drawing-room. She had changed
again, since we saw her last. There was something of sorrow, or
bitterness, in the compressed or quivering lip. Her eye was bright as
ever, but it was the brightness of the icicle glancing in the winter
sun--it was soon quenched in tears, and as she gazed out upon the
gloomy mountain, naked forest, and frozen lake, she murmured: "I used
to love summer and day so much; now----" [A servant entered with
lights.
Pages:
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279