“Du liebes Aug’, du lieber Stern,
Du bist mir nah’, und doch so fern!”[[26]]
Then, pressing Laura’s proffered hand, and bowing, he left.
“What a voice! what a touch!” said Onslow.
“It was enchanting!” cried Laura.
“I thought he was a different sort of man,” sighed Kenrick.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CONFESSIONS OF A MEAN WHITE.
“Throw thyself on thy God, nor mock him with feeble denial;
Sure of his love, and O, sure of his mercy at last;
Bitter and deep though the draught, yet drain thou the cup of thy trial,