The visions I have just
spoken of were mixed with other debates. Isabel liked better to
think of the future than of the past; but at times, as she listened to
the murmur of the Mediterranean waves, her glance took a backward
flight. It rested upon two figures which, in spite of increasing
distance, were still sufficiently salient; they were recognizable
without difficulty as those of Caspar Goodwood and Lord Warburton.
It was strange how quickly these images of energy had fallen into
the background of our young lady's life. It was in her disposition
at all times to lose faith in the reality of absent things; she
could summon back her faith, in case of need, with an effort, but
the effort was often painful even when the reality had been
pleasant. The past was apt to look dead and its revival rather to show
the livid light of a judgement-day. The girl moreover was not prone to
take for granted that she herself lived in the mind of others- she had
not the fatuity to believe she left indelible traces. She was
capable of being wounded by the discovery that she had been forgotten;
but of all liberties the one she herself found sweetest was the
liberty to forget.
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