It was late before Guly parted from his kind friends,
and when he did, it was with a sigh of regret for his own fate, though he could not help rejoicing in his generous heart at Blanche's good fortune. As the pretty and innocent brodeuse, he had hoped to win and wear her as his own; but as the adopted daughter of one of the wealthiest ladies in the Crescent City, accomplished, rich, polished, and refined, this Blanche he dared not, could not hope to win. It was a height to which he, a poor salaried clerk, could never aspire.
With a heavy heart he wended his way through the star-lit streets, dreaming of the days of the blind grandsire, and the little work-table at which he used to thread needles for Blanche, and wondering if those times ever would return.
CHAPTER XLI.
| "Hast thou loved in the good man's path to tread, And bend o'er the sufferer's lowly bed? Hast thou sought on the buoyant wings of prayer A peace which the faithless may not share? Do thy hopes all tend to the spirit land, And the love of a bright unspotted band? re these thy treasures?"—— |
It was twilight, and Mr. Delancey was sitting at his high desk, with his eyes looking thoughtfully out from under his pale brow. Changes had come upon him, and it was evident that though the strong will was there, the fire of that stern pride that once glowed there was crushed out, and burned now only in a few smouldering embers. Cholera had taken his wife from his side, and he inhabited the great house on Apollo-street, a desolate and childless old man.
"Gulian," said he, as the boy approached him with a bow, "how is it that you always can succeed in preserving your amiability and politeness under all circumstances? I cannot understand."
"Simply, sir," replied Guly, with a smile, "by remem