"I wish that were true," said Mabel, laughing. "I am not sufficiently heroic to object to anything so pleasant as that. I should be quite miserable if I could get no one to love me."
"For shame!" said Mr. Morley, turning sternly upon her. "Is it not sufficient pleasure to feel that you are doing your duty."
"Sufficient to make me do it, perhaps; but still, there is something so pleasant in being loved by those about us, that I would not willingly place myself in a position where it was impossible, unless called upon by some imperative duty."
"Earth—earth—earth," said Mr. Morley, stopping at the door in Sydney Place, "clinging every where—mixing with every thing."
"Oh, do not be angry with me," said Mabel, "for such a little fault."
"Oh, earth, earth," he repeated, even when the door opened, "your spirit is every where." And turning away, spite of everything she said, he went off down the street, repeating still between his teeth—"Earth—earth—earth."
[CHAPTER VII.]
It hath done its sacred mission
Sorrow's hand was sent to cure,
Bless it for the bitter anguish
Thou wert called on to endure.