The door closed behind him, and again I was left alone with my misery. I was young, and there is a tendency in youth to believe that every grief will be eternal.
In my turn I, too, began to pace up and down the room, with throbbing temples and an aching heart. And when at last tears came to my relief, I wept like a child, until I was exhausted and utterly worn-out.
All at once I remembered that it was summer-time, and that other people were revelling in the sunshine, while I was sitting alone in this dim room—alone with my misery and bitter regret. The thought set my tears flowing afresh, and then I rose, scarcely knowing what I was doing, and began to arrange some books and papers which were scattered over a little table in a corner.
When I moved my blotting-book, a paper fell from between its leaves, and fluttered down upon the floor. I picked it up, unfolded it, and read some verses which I had written a year ago.
"The trees are in blossom at Richmond now,
And the leaves are fresh and new;
The bloom lies thick on the lilac bough,
The clouds drift over the blue;
And the earth is as fair as it used to be
In times that have passed away;
When we shared its bliss with the bird and bee,
And laughed in the light of May.
"The trees are in blossom at Richmond now,
And the river shines like gold;
But the sweets are gone from the lilac bough,
And the skies are grey and cold;
For I miss your step in the flowery grass,
Your voice in the scented glade;
And the birds sing on, and the sweet hours pass,
Like dreams in the light and shade.
"The trees are in blossom at Richmond now,
But the flowers of love are dead;
And under the bloom of the lilac bough
I stand with a drooping head;
If I heard your voice by my side to-day,
I never could trust its tone;
And here, in the light of the sweet young May,
I live in the past alone."
When I wrote these lines, how little I knew that they would be prophetic! But there is, I fancy, an undertone of prophecy in every poet-nature; and even while Ronald and I were rejoicing together under the lilac blossoms, I had vague dreams of faded blooms and clouded skies. Now that I read the little poem again, by the light of my new experience, I remembered that past foreshadowing, and put the paper away with a deep sigh of pain.
Just at that moment there was a double knock at the hall door, which almost tempted me to believe that my husband had returned. But no, a woman's voice was heard asking for me; and then the door of my room was thrown open, and the parlour-maid announced "Miss Bailey."
It was a name that called up a thousand pleasant memories. Marian Bailey had been the playmate of my childhood, and the companion of my early girlhood, till her home in our village was suddenly broken up, and she had gone to live abroad. But although I had lost sight of her, I had never forgotten her, and the sight of her familiar face was like a gleam of sunshine.
"What brings you here, Marian?" I said, forgetting the traces of tears on my cheeks. "How did you find me?"
She answered that she had traced me through some of nurse's relatives in our old village; and then her kind eyes rested anxiously on my face for a moment. I remembered all at once that I must present a most doleful spectacle, and there was an awkward pause.