‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. That is so awful. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help. 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. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. Life seemed a very brave and glorious enterprise to Ann Veronica that day.
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