"I am sorry you should have had so much trouble," she answered, as she took my arm; "but we must now make haste, for it is getting quite late, and I know papa wishes to go part of the way home to-night."
"Do you live far from here, then?" I rather pointedly inquired.
"Oh, yes—I don't know how many miles—all the way down in Cheshire; we took this place in our road from town."
"Well, then, Miss Curzon," I said, as we approached her father, "I wonder if ever we shall meet again! You cannot think how I hope we may; but now good bye, and——"
"You need not leave me quite yet," she replied, interrupting me; "come a little further with me—what were you going to say?"
"Though I may never see you more, nobody will ever be so glad to hear that you are happy as I; for I would sooner see you so than any person I know."
"Thank you, thank you," she replied, rather earnestly, "and I hope we shall be able—indeed, I am certain I shall see you again somewhere—I will not," she added, as we approached the circle, "I will not, if you please, keep your arm before them. Good bye, then; I shall hear of you, at all events, from my brother."
She then left me, while I reluctantly directed my steps towards the college, which now appeared unwelcome and obtrusive. She was so different to everything I had hitherto experienced!—so gentle and kind—so unassuming, and yet so lovely—and now to be torn away and severed from such a person! That night I attempted to console myself in the following effusion; and as they are the first and last lines of which I was ever guilty, shall be here inserted; for though the versification is by no means faultless, they were true to my feelings at the time:—
When 'midst the deepest gloom of night,
While all is still and lone,
A heavenly meteor flashes bright,
But floats away as soon;
Does not the bosom of the moor
Seem doubly dark and drear,
Frowning still sterner than before
Did that false light appear!