A U BR E Y. VOL. II. CHAPTER I. Oh! breaking heart that will not break; TENNYSON. No sooner had the door closed upon Alice Craven, than Emma, scarcely able to breathe, and trembling with nervous agitation, endeavoured to rise from the sofa and totter into her bed-room. With difficulty she got across the floor, shut herself in, and then, falling upon her knees by the side of her bed, covered her face with the counterpane, panting and breathing heavily, like some poor animal terrified uot of its senses. brought near to her. She could not shed a tear she was as one petrified. Nor did she call upon God for help out of these depths of misery Poor child, God had never been She had no experience of the Father in Heaven, to whose protection the wretched one may fly, and find help, and counsel, and support practically she knew nothing of this. Her poor little bark was driving wildly before the storm, and for her there was no Heavenly voice to say, "Peace, be still." Aubrey. II. 1 Her sense of utter, utter loneliness and desolation in this, her first experience of sorrow, was terrible. She leaned, kneeling there against the bed, a poor hapless creature, stupified and darkened by her misery, vainly looking round for one ray of light. alas! She could not doubt the truth of what she had heard there was something about the woman which persuaded her that what she said was true Edward's mysterious absence was now but too well accounted for! Regret sorrow love indignation were struggling for mastery in her breast the bewildering effect of sorrow, very much increased by her confused and imperfect perception of what Edward had really done. All she could understand was, that he had been guilty of some great crime that his father had discarded him, and that they were parted for ever. She was still there kneeling, poor young thing, smothering her face against the bed clothes, now and then hastily wiping her tears, which happily at last began to flow, when a knock was heard at the door. She knew her mother's voice, and hastily springing up, dashed away the drops that had fallen upon her cheek; and going to the door opened it. Her mother stood there, looking very serious and grave. "May I come in, my dear?" The only answer was to open the door a little wider, and the Marchioness entered and sat down. "Emma, my love. No answer. "Emma, my dear, how pale you look." |