THE STORY OF ANNE M A TURIN 
S3 
Oh, I heard that she was an angel, of 
course,” said Mrs. Hartley. “ That, one 
takes for granted, and he gave me her pho- 
tograph ; it is lying about somewhere. Look 
on my little table under the newspaper, or 
under my work. Pretty enough ; but you 
never can tell from a photograph. What is 
the matter with you, Anne ? ” 
“ I only tripped against the stool,” said 
Anne, hastily turning her back to the light, 
and catching a glimpse of herself in the glass, 
which frightened her. 
She was thankful to go with the photo- 
graph to the window after she had found it, 
the waning light being an excuse for her. 
The photograph was like a hundred others, 
such as every one has seen. A pretty young 
face, with the usual elaborate hair- dressing, 
and the usual elaborate costume. As for 
such things as expression or character, there 
were none in the so-called portrait, which 
might of course be the fault of the orig- 
inal ; but this no one would dare to make 
sure of. It seemed to Anne, looking at it 
with her hot eyes, to swell and magnify, and 
smile disdainfully at her, as she gazed at 
it. She was still stupid with the blow, and, 
at the same time, was making so desperate 
an effort to restrain herself, that between the 
stunned sensation of that shock, and the self- 
restraint which she exercised, she seemed to 
herself to be like marble or iron, rigid and 
cold. The photograph fell out of her stiff 
fingers, and she had to grope for it on the 
floor, scarcely seeing it. All this occupied 
her so long that Mrs. Hartley became im- 
patient. 
“ Well, have you nothing to say about it, 
now that you have seen it ? ” she asked. 
“ She is very pretty,” said Anne, slowly. 
“ I hope Francis will be very happy with her. 
Did he seem very much ” 
“ Oh, he seemed all a young man ought 
to be, as foolish as you please,” said Mrs. 
Hartley ; ‘‘ but he is coming home to dinner 
this evening, so you can question him to 
your heart’s content. Give me a cup of 
tea, Anne. I think I shall go to my room 
and rest a little before dinner. Ihere is 
nothing tires one like excitement,” said the 
placid old lady ; and she continued to talk 
about and about this great subject while she 
drank her afternoon cup of tea. 
How glad Anne was when she left the 
room to take that nap before dinner ; how 
thankful that she had a moment’s breathing- 
time, and could, so to speak, look herself in 
the face. This was precisely the first thing 
she did when she was left to herself. She 
went up to the mantel-piece and leaned her 
arms upon it, and contemplated in the 
mingled light, half twilight, half ruddy 
gleams from the fire, the strange, forlorn, 
woe- begone face, that seemed to look back 
at her mournfully out of that rose-tinted 
gloom. The giddiness was beginning to go 
off a little, and the singing in her ears was 
less than it had been ; the strange whirl and 
revolution of earth and heaven had ceased, 
and the things were settling down into their 
places. What was it that had happened to 
her? “ Nothing, nothing,” she said to her- 
self, vehemently, the red blood of shame 
rushing to her face in a painful and tingling 
glow. Poor pretense; nothing was changed, 
but everything was different. The whole 
world and her life, and everything she was 
acquainted with, or had any experience of, 
seemed suddenly to have been snatched 
from her and thrown into the past. The 
very path she was treading seemed cut away 
under her feet. She had stopped short, 
startled, feeling deadly faint and sick when 
the sudden precipice opened at her feet; 
but there it was, and there did not seem 
another step for her to take anywhere upon 
solid ground. This sudden, wild conscious- 
ness of the difference, however, though it 
was bad enough, was not all. Bitter and 
terrible shame that it should be so, scorched 
up poor Anne. Shame flamed upon her in- 
nocent cheeks. Her eyes fell before her 
own gaze, ashamed to meet it. A man 
feels no such shame to have given his love 
to a woman who loves him not. He may 
be angry, jealous, mortified, and vindictive ; 
but he is not abashed. But the woman 
who has given her heart unsought is more 
than abashed. She feels herself smitten to 
the earth as with a positive stain. Shame 
embitters and impoisons all her suffering. It 
is almost worse than a crime — ^it is a dis- 
grace to her and to all womankind — or at 
least so the girl feels in the first agony of 
such a discovery, though her love may be 
as pure and devoted and unselfish as any- 
thing known in this world. 
Then her thoughts all rushed to the ques- 
tion of self-defense. She must not make a 
show of herself and her emotions. She 
must smile and congratulate and gossip as 
if the event were one of the happiest which 
could have occurred, as she had done with 
a light heart when Letty and Susan were 
married. Their weddings had been the 
greatest gala-days she had ever known. She 
had been bridesmaid to both, with a fresh 
dress, and an important position, and much 
01 23456789 10 Missouri 
BOTAN ICAL 
cm copyright reserved garden 
