'I am afraid I do. That dead, fluttering thing was once a bud; it lived the summer-life of a leaf; now it will decay through the winter, and perhaps the next, until it finally becomes part of the earth. Everything in nature I see pursuing the same course; why should I imagine myself an exception to the general rule?'
'What, then, is the meaning of life?'
'That I'm afraid we shall never learn from listening to the rustling of leaves.'
The short sharp cry of a bird broke the mild calm of the woods, and
Alice said:
'Perhaps the same thought that troubles us is troubling that bird.'
The girls walked on in silence, and when they came to the end of the path and their parting was inevitable, there was something of the passion of the lover in Cecilia's voice: 'Promise me you will come to see me soon again. You'll not leave me so long; you will write; I shall not be able to live if I don't hear from you.'
The sound of hooves was heard, and a pair of cream-coloured ponies, with a florid woman driving determinedly, came sweeping round the corner.
'What a strange person!' said Alice, watching the blue veil and the brightly dyed hair.
'Don't you know who she is?' said Cecilia; 'that is your neighbour, Mrs.
Lawler.'
'Oh! is it really? I have been so long at school that I know nobody—I have been anxious to see her. Why, I wonder, do people speak of her so mysteriously?'