Part 55 (1/2)

A happy boyhood passed in the society of this sweet playe; a happy boyhood here in Holby, where they had always been inseparable, wandering hand in hand along the shore or over the hills; a happy boyhood where she was the one and only coacy of his early life

Leaving Holby he had left her, but had never forgotten her He had carried with hi, and cherished his undying fondness, not knohat that fondness meant He had returned to find her married, and severed from him forever, at least in this life When he found that he had lost her he began to understand how dear she was All life stood before hiless without her He came back, but the old intercourse could not be renewed; she could not be his, and he could only live, and love, and endure Perhaps it would have been wiser if he had at once left Holby and sought out soradual; it cauish; and when he knew that his love was so intense it was then impossible to leave To be near her, to breathe the same air, to see her face occasionally, to nurse his old memories, to hoard up new remembrances of her words and looks--these now became the chief occupation of his hours of solitude, and the only happiness left hier sense of desolation in his heart than usual, going up to see her in order to get consolation froht of her face and the sound of her voice Their foriven place to a seriousness of manner which was very different A deep, intense joy shone in the eyes of each at e which they had used of old had been dropped

Music was the one thing of which they could speak without fear Despard could talk of his Byzantine poets, and the chants of the Eastern Church, without being in danger of reawakening painful memories The piano stood close by, and always afforded a convenientattention when it became too absorbed in one another

For Mrs Thornton did not repel hietful of what he so well reiven her hand to another?

”What she felt the while Dare he think?”

Yet there were tiht feel as he did The thought brought joy, but it also brought fear For, if the struggle against this feeling needed all the strength of his nature, what le as he, how could she endure it? Then, as he considered this, he thought to himself that he would rather she would not love hi to sacrifice his own heart He wished only to adore her, and was content that she should receive, and permit, and accept his adoration, herself unmoved--a passionless divinity

In their intercourse it was strange how frequently there were long pauses of perfect silence, during which neither spoke a word So at the floor; soh they could read each other's thoughts, and by the aze of their earnest eyes could hold ample spiritual communion

On one such occasion they stood by thelooking out upon the lawn, but seeing nothing in that abstracted gaze Despard stood facing her, close to her Her hand was hanging by her side He stooped and took that little slender hand in his As he did so he trembled from head to foot

As he did so a faint flush passed over her face Her head fell forward

Despard held her hand and she did not withdraw it Despard drew her slightly toward hie, eloquent eyes, sad beyond all description, yet speaking things which thrilled his soul He looked down upon her with eyes that told her all that was in his heart She turned her head away

Despard clung to her hand as though that hand were his life, his hope, his joy--as though that alone could save hi His lips moved In vain No audible sound broke that intense stillness in which the beating and throbbing of those two forlorn hearts could be heard His lips moved, but all sound died away upon theer effort broke the silence

”Teresa!”

It was a strange tone, a tone of longing unutterable, a tone like that which a dyingbefore hi of years rushed forth in concentrated energy, and was borne to her ears in the sound of that one word She looked up with the salance as before

”Little playmate,” said he, in a tone of infinite sweetness, ”have you ever forgotten the old days? Do you remember when you and I last stood hand in hand?”

His voice sounded like the utterance of tears, as though, if he could have wept, he would then have wept as no h his manhood, and all that tears can express were shown forth in his tone

As he began to speak her head fell again As he ended she looked up as before Her lips moved She whispered but one word:

”Courtenay!”

She burst into a flood of tears and sank into a chair And Despard stood, not daring even to soothe her, for fear lest in that veheive way utterly

At length Mrs Thornton rose ”Lao to the piano”

”Will you sing the _Ave Maria_” he asked, mournfully

”I dare not,” said she, hastily ”No, anything but that I will sing Rossini's _Cujus Animam_”