"Silence in the court!" exclaimed Lord Farnborough. "The deponent speaks."
"A lover's heart," resumed Miss Ponsonby, waving her hand, "is ennobled by affection, grand in its conceptions—"
"There you are out, Mary," cried her brother; "on the very threshold you have stumbled. What is a more jealous, narrowed, dull, complaining concern than love, and a lover's heart? Can any thing be more disturbing, distrustful, and moody, or more capricious?"
"Speak on, Arthur; I know very little about the matter, I believe, while your long absence has doubtless taught you knowledge," cried Miss Ponsonby.
"Does not love create suspicion?"—Christobelle cast her eyes involuntarily towards Sir John Spottiswoode, and met his fixed, melancholy look. His eye was instantly withdrawn.
"Does not love create melancholy?" continued Captain Ponsonby, turning to Christobelle, "does it not produce the desire to please, while it restrains the ability, Farnborough? Does it not bow down the head, and make pale the cheek, Fanny?"
Fanny Ponsonby started at her brother's address, but she smiled good-humouredly at the question. Her head had bent forward, and her attention was earnestly given to the definition of the lover's heart. Her attitude had attracted the notice of her lively brother, and drawn down his remark, but its purport was received as gently, as its intention to give offence was innocent. Not so Lord Farnborough. He rose proudly from the humble position he had assumed, and retired to the group detached from his party. Captain Ponsonby continued his remarks, while a satisfied smile played on his lips.
"Altogether, love deforms and beautifies; it makes the humble and silent man talkative; and it causes the violent man to throw off the mask which veils his fiery spirit. The less we know of the subtle deity, the happier we are in freedom of heart and spirit; but once receive him to your bosom, and adieu for ever to the calm pleasures of life."
"I thought, Arthur, 'love was heaven, and heaven was love;' at least, that is my idea of the passion."
"Mary!" exclaimed her brother, "presume not to touch upon ground where your foot has never yet trod. Be wise, and remain in your ignorance, uninteresting, and uninformed. There can be no heaven in the dire suspense, the conscious feeling, the fear of scorn, the unrequited pang, the jealous agony of heart, the sighs of uncertainty."