I cannot weep—my brain is dry,
Deep woe usurps the voice of mirth
The sunshine of youth's cloudless sky
Has faded from this goodly earth.
My soul is wrapped in midnight gloom,
And all that charmed my heart before,
Droops earthward to the silent tomb,
Where darkness dwells for evermore.'
"The voice ceased. I stepped from my hiding-place. Alice rose from the bench beside the door; the work on which she was employed fell from her hand, and she stood before me wild and wan—the faded spectre of past happiness and beauty.
"'Good heavens! Alice, Can this be you?'