"
"How, Bella?"
"He has his work and loves it: I have nothing after my duty to him
is done. I find I've lost my taste for the old pleasures and
pursuits, and though I have tried more sober, solid ones, there
still remains much time to hang heavy on my hands, and such an empty
place in my heart, that even Harry's love cannot fill it. I'm afraid
I shall get melancholy,--that is the beginning of the end for us,
you know."
As Bella spoke the light died out of her eyes, and they grew
despairing with the gloom of a tragic memory. Christie drew the
beautiful, pathetic face clown upon her bosom, longing to comfort,
yet feeling very powerless to lighten Bella's burden.
But Christie's little daughter did it for her. Ruth had been
standing near regarding the "pretty lady," with as much wonder and
admiration as if she thought her a fairy princess, who might vanish
before she got a good look at her. Divining with a child's quick
instinct that the princess was in trouble, Ruth flew into the porch,
caught up her latest and dearest treasure, and presented it as a
sure consolation, with such sweet good-will, that Bella could not
refuse, although it was only a fuzzy caterpillar in a little box.
Pages:
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503