"And so you are in love, poor child!" said Mrs. Sandford, compassionately.
"I have been" (with a gentle emphasis).
"Ah, you think you are past it now, I suppose?"
"I sha'n't forget soon,—I could not, if I would; but love is over,—gone like yesterday's sunshine."
"But the sun shines again to-day."
"Well, if you prefer another comparison," said Alice, smiling faintly,—"gone out like yesterday's fire."
"Fire lurks a long time in the ashes unseen, my dear."
Alice dropped her needle and looked steadily at her companion.
"I am young," she said; "yet I have outgrown the school-girl period. The current of my life has flowed in a deep channel: the shallow little brook may fancy its first spring-freshet to be a Niagara; but my feelings have swelled with no transient overflow. I gave my utmost love and devotion to a man I thought worthy. He treated me with neglect, and at last falsified his word in offering his hand to another, I do not hate him. I have none of that alchemy which changes despised love to gall. But I could never forgive him, nor trust him again. And if he, who seemed always so frank, so earnest, so tender, so single in his aims,—if he could not be trusted, I do not know where I could rest my heart and say,—'Here I am safe, whatever betide!'"
It was a strange thing for Alice to speak in such an exalted strain, and she trembled as she tried to resume her sewing. The thread slipped and knotted; the needle broke and pricked her finger; and then, feeling her cheeks begin to glow, she laid down her work and turned to the window.