Rising suddenly, for she felt that she was losing the control of her feelings, Edith excused herself, and hastily retired. Mary saw that something had affected her friend, and, with a look, made her husband comprehend the fact also. He remained in the drawing-room, while Mary passed with Edith into the hall, where they paused for a moment, looking into each other's faces. Neither said a word, but Edith laid her face down upon the bosom of her friend, and sobbed passionately.
"What is it that pains you, Edith?" Mary asked, in a low, tender voice, as soon as her friend had wept herself into calmness.
Edith raised her face, now pale and composed, and pushing back with her hand a stray ringlet that had fallen over her cheek, said, with a forced but sad smile,
"Forgive my weakness, dear—I could not help it. A full heart will at times run over. But, good-night—good-night!"
And Edith hurried away.
A few years more and the history of a hopeless, weary life was closed. Is the moral of this history hard to read? No; all may comprehend it.
STANZAS.
Vain our hopes with pleasure glowing,
False the light ambition burns,
Swift the tide of time is flowing,
And the dial quickly turns.
Mark the flowers how they wither,
As the north winds pass them by,
And the sparrow passing thither
At the falcon's luring cry: