Still, one never could tell. Annabel, I cannot believe it. " "Fool!" cried Wild, taking up the body, "what are you afraid of? After all," he added, pausing, "he may be of more use to me alive than dead. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. Brendon went for the doctor,” Anna answered. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. All at once she became aware of sounds outside. ‘It is the life I know. When will he be up?" "That depends. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. Keep up the clamour for five minutes, and I'll finish it.
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