A flush, delicate as it was fleeting, swept over the dew of Paula’s cheek. She rose to her feet and met her aunt’s eye, with a look of gentle dignity. “No,” said she, “I wish to test myself. Birds that are prisoned will caress any hand that offers them freedom. I wish to see if the lure holds good when my wings are in mid-heaven.”
There was a dreamy cadence to her voice as she uttered that last phrase, that startled her aunt. “Paula,” exclaimed she, “Paula, don’t you know your own heart?”
“Who does?” returned Paula; then in a sudden rush of emotion threw herself once more at her aunt’s side, saying, “It is in order to know it, that I ask you to take me away.”
And Miss Belinda, as she smoothed back her darling’s locks, was obliged to acknowledge to herself, that time has a way of opening, in the stream of life, unforeseen channels to whose current we perforce must yield, or else hopelessly strand upon the shoals.
BOOK IV.
FROM A. TO Z.
XXX.
MISS BELINDA PRESENTS MR. SYLVESTER WITH A CHRISTMAS GIFT.