MYSTERIES OF MEMORY* 11 



in the fatal lines. She reads, — a livid paleness descends upon 

 her brow, — her eye sparkles with a keen and searching 

 brightness, and her ashy lip quivers with emotion. Suddenly 

 she drops the letter, and clasps her hands with convulsive 

 energy, her eyes are raised but they are unblessed with the 

 sweet relief of tears. Again she rivets her glance upon the 

 letter — again she reads, and snatching up the auburn tress 

 kisses it a hundred and a hundred times : her sighs break forth, 

 they quicken, they deepen into sobs ; her agony is strong as 

 though nature was rending its tabernacle of clay. But the 

 struggle was too bitter for endurance ; she throws her arms 

 wildly upon the table, her head sinks upon them in despairing 

 abandonment, and the springs of grief burst forth with i^assionate 

 vehemence. 



The curtains became, suddenly, agitated ; they sweep forward 

 with a sullen movement — a hollow gust rushes round the 

 chamber, and the wail of a trumpet seems borne upon its wings. 

 The scene dissolves. 



PERIOD II. 



The Dream of Love ; the Ball Room ; the Reign of Vanity ; the Re-union, 



" Are there no ties to keep the heart 

 A vow'd and sacred thing?" 



L. E. L. 



^ * The mist of the last scene has passed away : an 

 antique garden meets my view ; its gravelled paths are straight 

 and narrow, and borders of well-clipped box surround the 

 separate beds ; a sun-dial is in the centre — old fashioned, and 

 filigreed with moss — the gnomon indicates that the eleventh 

 hour is approaching, and a mellow glow dwells upon the spot. 

 The rarer flowers of the summer have vanished from the scene ; 

 but trees redolent with the fruits of the autumn, bend like 

 pilgrims to the earth, and spread their fantastic branches over 

 those that, still, tell of the departed season. Tall, clustering 

 chimneys, whence issues many a curling wreath of smoke, rise 

 above a grove in which the birch, the elder, the walnut tree, and 

 the sycamore mingle their contrasted hues. At the end of the 

 garden a rustic paling, luxuriantly overgrown with many 

 coloured lichen, divides it from the adjoining fields ; and four 

 mighty poplars, rooted near the margin of a rivulet, aid the soft 

 music of the breeze. The wild-bee tjooms by on vagrant wing, 

 and a few wandering butterflies, seeking the lost roses, flutter 

 round the bloomless stems. The wood-pigeon coos in a far-off 

 oak, a lone robin answers, plaintively, from a neighbouring barn, 

 and the sweet melody of bells is sounding on the air. 



Midway in the centre path, beneath an aged apple-tree, a 

 young and fair girl stands in an attitude of timid attention ; her 

 dark and simple robe of russet hue, descends in graceful folds 



