The maiden
again spoke:--
"It seemed as though a veil, invisible heretofore, were suddenly
undrawn. The glory and the baseness, the splendour and the pollution,
were at once revealed. The hand unseen had drawn it aside. I would now
shun--I hope for ever--- these paths of folly; and I bid farewell to
your pleasures without a murmur or a regret."
Sir John, courtier though he was, ardently and willingly rendering
homage at the shrine of pleasure and dissipation, was awe-struck.
Conscience echoed a fearful response; and he shrank before the reproof
he could not shun.
"Without regret!" said he, faltering and abashed. "I had hoped--perhaps
wished--but it was too presumptuous. My purest thoughts would have
sullied so pure a shrine."
"Stay, Sir John; though the confession be humbling to a maiden's pride,
yet my heart tells me 'tis the last time we meet; and it is the only
acknowledgment,--I render it to your honesty and good faith." Her voice
grew hesitating and tremulous. "There was a tendril twining about my
heart; but it is wrung off, and I am again--alone!"
Her heart was full, and her whole frame convulsed by some overpowering
emotion.
Pages:
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578