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. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. " "This is folly," cried Jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort. ‘Something in that, missie. "Let him remain," interposed Trenchard. She tore open the envelope and read it. ” She felt humiliated. No matter. The flight. I've foiled him hitherto, and will foil him yet. “I killed him. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. ” She said quietly. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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