“It may be a trial sent for your advantage and his; who can say but it may yet end for the good of you both? At present, indeed, there is no probability of its ending favorably, and, even should it not, we are bound to bear with patience such dispensations as the Great Being, to whom we owe our existence, and of whose ways we know so little, may think right to lay upon us. Now, God bless you, and support you, dear, till I see you again. I must go; don't you hear the jaunting-car driving up to the gate; be firm—dear Una—be firm, and good—by!”
Never was a day spent under the influence of a more terrible suspense than that which drank up the strength of this sinking girl during the trial of her lover. Actuated by a burning and restless sense of distraction, she passed from place to place with that mechanical step which marks those who seek for comfort in vain. She retired to her apartment and strove to pray; but the effort was fruitless; the confusion of her mind rendered connection and continuity of thought and language impossible. At one moment she repaired to the scenes where they had met, and again with a hot and aching brain, left them with a shudder that arose from a withering conception of the loss of him whose image, by their association, was at once rendered more distinct and more beloved. Her poor mother frequently endeavored to console her, but became too much affected herself to proceed. Nor were the servants less anxious to remove the heavy load of sorrow which weighed down her young spirit to the earth. Her brief, but affecting reply was the same to each.
“Nothing can comfort me; my heart is breaking; oh, leave me—leave me to the sorrow that's upon, me.”
Deep, indeed, was the distress felt on her account, even by the females of her father's house, who, that day, shed many bitter tears on witnessing the mute but feverish agony of her sufferings. As evening approached she became evidently more distracted and depressed; her head, she said, felt hot, and her temples occasionally throbbed with considerable violence. The alternations of color on her cheek were more frequent than before, and their pallid and carmine hues were more alarmingly contrasted. Her weeping mother took the stricken one to her bosom, and, after kissing her burning and passive lips, pressed her temples with a hope that this might give her relief.
“Why don't you cry, anien maehree? (daughter of my heart). Thry and shed tears; it 'ill take away this burning pain that's in your poor head; oh, thry and let down the tears, and you'll see how it 'ill relieve I you.”
“Mother, I can't,” she replied; “I can shed no tears; I wish they were home, for I the worst couldn't be worse than this.”
“No, asthore, it couldn't—it can't; husth! I—do you hear it? There they are; that's the car; ay, indeed, it's at the gate.”
They both listened for a moment, and the voices of her father and brother were distinctly heard giving some necessary orders! to the servant.
“Mother, mother,” exclaimed Una, pressing her hands upon her heart, “my heart is bursting, and my temples—my temples—”
“Chierna yeelish,” said the mother, feeling its strong and rapid palpitations, “you can't stand this. Oh, darling of my heart, for the sake of your own life, and of the living God, be firm!”