They expected very shortly to have returned home, and he had anticipated
so much pleasure in that return. He had never analyzed the source of
that pleasure, but now that it was removed, he saw it too clearly; it
was the hope, the expectation, of meeting with her. He recalled to mind
the hours he had passed with her,--happy hours, all too quickly flown;
her winning smile, the sweetly persuasive tones of her voice, her
earnest and thoughtful manner, all came back to haunt him with their
memory. Oh, how distinctly he remembered one of the last conversations
he had with her, when, in her own mellifluous tones, she had repeated
Young's exquisite lines,--
"Stricken friends
Are angels sent on errands full of love,--
For us they languish, and for us they die."
Never had he felt their beauty as now, for the storm of passion had in a
measure subsided, and the still small voice of conscience once more
asserted its power.
"Oh, Agnes, Agnes," he murmured, "you tarried on our earth as an angel
of light, and now you have but returned to your native sphere, and
rejoined your sister spirits, but could you see my rebellious heart, how
infinitely removed from the resignation and purity that can alone find
admission into the haven of bliss, how should I sink in your esteem, if,
indeed, surrounded by the spirits of the blessed, your thoughts ever
turn to so miserable an inhabitant of earth.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81