"Ah," thought Mabel, as tears rushed to her eyes, "to have begged for her her daily bread, would have been joy to losing her."
"I see," continued Mrs. Lesly, "that you can, with difficulty, perceive why I speak so now; but, my Mabel, will remember, with gratitude, should she ever suffer the unkindness of the world, that her sister shares it not, and her noble heart will rejoice that she alone will have to bear the trials, from which a dying mother cannot protect her."
"Ah, Mamma, that word alone is dreadful; you must not—cannot leave me."
"My child knows that there is a must, which cannot be resisted—and I have mistaken my Mabel if she does not bow before this, with as much courage and submission, as before every other trial. Remember your dear father's words in his last illness—'Mabel, life is but a short campaign after all, and you must fight to the end; who would be so cowardly as to lay down his sword for a wound'?"
"I will remember, dearest mamma," said Mabel, more firmly, for the words of her father always had influence with her; "and, oh, forgive my selfishness."
Tears were in her mother's eyes, though her voice had been firm; and Mabel, fearing to continue the conversation, returned to the window, and looked out again upon the night, which was fast closing around; but scarcely did she now heed the flitting clouds, and the coming darkness, or the wind as it rocked the old trees, or their branches, which, by their fantastic motion, appeared beckoning her attention; they seemed, an hour ago, to echo back the light laugh, whose gay music she would hear no more; but now the hour of fancy was over, and oppressed by the real presence of grief, she bowed her head, and chastened her heart to silence.
CHAPTER IV.
There is one
Must be mine inmate, for I may not choose,
But love him.
Southey.