"Impossible!" echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. A broken laugh followed the action. "Seize this oar," vociferated the waterman. ’ The idiocy of it all irritated Melusine. The danger you put yourself in by remaining here astounds me. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. "Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said.
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