Fitzhenry had allowed her to depart. It seemed, indeed, even his wish that she should go; and, unsolicited, she could not return. On they drove. It was a beautiful bright Sunday; every one around her seemed to be enjoying the day in gladness and gratitude. The roads and fields were filled with joyous groups, the air with gay sounds.
“Do I sin in loving him so entirely, so passionately?” thought Emmeline; “that amid so many that rejoice, I alone am doomed to be miserable?”
In uttering these words, perhaps Emmeline did sin. But it is the sin into which suffering betrays us all. The wretched are hidden, or hide themselves, from our view; and when, in sorrow, we look around us, we compare our situation with those only who happen, at that moment, to be basking in the transitory sunshine of cheerfulness. How many, as Emmeline’s gay equipage drove rapidly by, probably coveted her riches, her luxuries, her youth, and her beauty! while she envied the ragged, laughing beggar-boy, by the road-side, who, as her carriage passed, tossed his naked arms in the air, hallooing, in pure gaiety of heart and enjoyment of existence.
CHAPTER III.
Has thy heart sickened with deferred hope?
Or felt th’ impatient anguish of suspense?
Or hast thou tasted of the bitter cup
Which Disappointment’s withered hands dispense?
Thou knowest the poison which o’erflowed from hence