The fosterer, but in vain, endeavoured to cheer her sinking spirits. The cruislteeine was laid down untasted; and while with youth’s ardent eloquence, Mark Antony pointed to happiness in the distance, the deep sobs of his companion told that from her bosom that hope which cheers the darkest hour of life, was long departed.
“Come, come, Julia,” he said, pressing her hand in his, “why will you be so down-hearted?”
The poor girl raised her eyes. She did not reply; but her look betrayed the agony of the heart, and its sad and silent expression had “the calmness of settled despair.”
“And have you been very—very unfortunate, Julia?” pursued the fosterer.
The wanderer mournfully shook her head.
“And left home, and friends, and—”
“Father!” exclaimed the girl, wildly, with a maniac’s suddenness.
“Were you decoyed away by a villain?
“He who wrecked my peace is in the grave. May Heaven pardon him as sincerely as I wish it!”
“Probably under the promise of marriage?” said the fosterer, with the hesitation that a man feels who asks a question which possibly may cause pain or give offence.