" He started to pick up a sheet of manuscript, but she pushed him from the table toward the doorway; and he staggered out of the bungalow, suddenly stretched his arms, and broke into a trot. His eyes never left her face. Both Ruth and McClintock came down to the launch to wish him God-speed and good luck. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. I shall know what to say to him when he comes. 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. Sheppard, distractedly. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. "He just asked for his coat, which he wanted under his pillow. 238 < 30 > IN BED John drove her home after school nearly every day. ‘If you had met her, you’d understand. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully.
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