The colour fled from her
cheeks, her courage forsook her, her gentle heart failed. Unmindful
of all her provoking caprices, forgetful of all her conquests and
inconstancy, with all her winning little vanities quite gone, she
nestled all the livelong day in Emma Haredale's bosom; and, sometimes
calling on her dear old grey-haired father, sometimes on her mother, and
sometimes even on her old home, pined slowly away, like a poor bird in
its cage.
Light hearts, light hearts, that float so gaily on a smooth stream, that
are so sparkling and buoyant in the sunshine--down upon fruit, bloom
upon flowers, blush in summer air, life of the winged insect, whose
whole existence is a day--how soon ye sink in troubled water! Poor
Dolly's heart--a little, gentle, idle, fickle thing; giddy, restless,
fluttering; constant to nothing but bright looks, and smiles and
laughter--Dolly's heart was breaking.
Emma had known grief, and could bear it better. She had little comfort
to impart, but she could soothe and tend her, and she did so; and Dolly
clung to her like a child to its nurse. In endeavouring to inspire her
with some fortitude, she increased her own; and though the nights
were long, and the days dismal, and she felt the wasting influence
of watching and fatigue, and had perhaps a more defined and clear
perception of their destitute condition and its worst dangers, she
uttered no complaint.
Pages:
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941