‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. It’s the public entrance. ‘Pitiful. He was now aided with a powerful implement, with which he soon contrived to make a hole in the wall. “I love some one else. 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. ” She looked at him with fluttering eyelids—sweetly grateful. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla. It was a different world. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on.
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