He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. The cork came out with a loud pop, and Anna could not help wondering how it must sound to the patient little crowd outside. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. "Have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these troublesome warmint?" observed Abraham.
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