They have haunted thee through the long night; thou couldst not
sleep; those dark eyes looked into thy soul; they have kindled upon the
hidden altar of life the sad and beautiful light of love. Thou no longer
livest for thyself; another image possesses thy heart, and thou hast
wonderingly discovered a new page in the poetry of thy nature.
"Yes, love--first love--is a sad and holy thing; a pleasure born out of
pain, welcomed with smiles, nourished by tears, and worshipped by the
young and enthusiastic as the only real and abiding good in a world of
shadow. Alas! for the young heart, why should it ever awake to find the
most perfect of its creatures like the rest--a dream!"
And poor Juliet's love-dream was banished very abruptly by the harsh
voice of Aunt Dorothy.
"Miss Whitmore, the dinner waits for _you_. Quick! you have been an hour
dressing yourself to-day. Will you never have done arranging your hair?
Now, do pray take out those nasty flowers. They do not become you. They
look romantic and theatrical."
"Ah, aunt, you must not rob me of my flowers, God's most precious gift
to man."
"I hate them! They always make a room look in a litter."
"Hate flowers!" exclaimed Juliet, in unaffected surprise. "God's
beautiful flowers! I pity your want of taste, my good aunt."
"Nay, spare your commiseration for those who need it, Miss Whitmore.
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