Page:Romance & Reality 3.pdf/287

Rh "Nay, I have not wanted you till now;" and throwing her arm round her companion's neck, she kissed her: it was a silent renewal of affection, as if she mutely asked her forgiveness for having envied her happiness. She was soon asleep; and Beatrice, now fully awakened by anxiety, watched over her unquiet slumbers as you would watch a feverish child. Once Emily started up—"Is my letter gone to Lady Mandeville?" But on Beatrice's assurance that it should be sent the first thing in the morning, she dropped her head back on the pillow and slumbered again. The sunshine of summer, and the showers of spring, brought in the next day. White clouds wandered over the sky, like the uncertain aims of the weak and vain—and like them, too, often ending in darkness and tears. The wind stirred the leaves of the old trees with a sound like falling rain—a melancholy voice that suited well with their gloomy shade. But in the garden was life in all its glad and bright hues: the early roses and the late violets opened their urns, exhaling in perfume the drops they caught, till every breath was pleasure; the laburnums, those prodigals of fleeting wealth, were covered with gold; and the Persian lilacs waved