XXIX.
MIST IN THE VALLEY.
"The true beginning of our end."
--MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
Mr. Ensign was not slow in developing his ideas of friendship. Though hedid not venture upon repeating his visit too soon, scarcely a weekpassed without bringing to Paula a letter or some other testimonial ofhis increasing devotion. The blindest eye could not fail to remarkwhither he was tending. Even Paula was forced to acknowledge to herselfthat she was on the verge of a flowery incline, that sooner or laterwould bring her up breathless against the dread alternative of a decidedyes or no. Friendship is a wide portal, and sometimes admits love; hadit served her traitorously in this?
Her aunt who watched her with secret but lynx-eyed scrutiny, saw noreason to alter the first judgment of that mysterious, "It is all comingright," with which she viewed the first symptoms of Paula's girlishappreciation of her lover. If eyes and lips could speak, Paula washappy. The mournful shadows which of late had flitted with more or lesspersistency over her face, had vanished in a living smile, which if notdeep, was cloudlessly radiant; and her voice when not used in speech,was rippling away in song, as glad as a finch's on the mountain side.
Miss Belinda was therefore very much astonished when one day Paula burstinto her presence, and flinging herself down on her knees, threw herarms about her waist, crying,
"Take me away, dear aunt, I cannot, dare not stay here another day."
"Paula, what do you mean?" exclaimed Miss Belinda, holding her back andendeavoring to look into her face. But the young girl gently resisted.
"I have just had a letter from Cicely," she returned in a low andmuffled voice. "She has seen Mr. Sylvester, and says he looks both wanand ill. He told her, too, that he was lonely, and I know what thatmeans; he wants his child. The time has come for me to go back. He saidit would, and that I would know when it came. Take me, aunt, take me toMr. Sylvester."
Miss Belinda, to whom self-control was one of the cardinal virtues,leaned back in her chair and contemplated the eager, tear-stained facethat was now raised to hers, with silent scrutiny. "Paula," said she atlast, "is that your only reason for desiring to return to New York?"
A flush, delicate as it was fleeting, swept over the dew of Paula'scheek. She rose to her feet and met her aunt's eye, with a look ofgentle dignity. "No," said she, "I wish to test myself. Birds that areprisoned will caress any hand that offers them freedom. I wish to see ifthe lure holds good when my wings are in mid-heaven."
There was a dreamy cadence to her voice as she uttered that last phrase,that startled her aunt. "Paula," exclaimed she, "Paula, don't you knowyour own heart?"
"Who does?" returned Paula; then in a sudden rush of emotion threwherself once more at her aunt's side, saying, "It is in order to knowit, that I ask you to take me away."
And Miss Belinda, as she smoothed back her darling's locks, was obligedto acknowledge to herself, that time has a way of opening, in the streamof life, unforeseen channels to whose current we perforce must yield, orelse hopelessly strand upon the shoals.
BOOK IV.
FROM A. TO Z.