Woman must be
sought to be prized; her life is one of concealed emotions; blessed are
they whose early impressions make the task free from hypocrisy, for such
only can be happy with men like--like Dunwoodie." Her voice failed, and
she sank back on her pillow in silence. The cry of Singleton brought the
rest of the party to her bedside; but death was already upon her
countenance; her remaining strength just sufficed to reach the hand of
George, and pressing it to her bosom for a moment, she relinquished her
grasp, and, with a slight convulsion, expired.
Frances Wharton had thought that fate had done its worst, in endangering
the life of her brother, and destroying the reason of her sister; but
the relief conveyed by the dying declaration of Isabella taught her that
another sorrow had aided in loading her heart with grief. She saw the
whole truth at a glance; nor was the manly delicacy of Dunwoodie lost
upon her--everything tended to raise him in her estimation; and, for
mourning that duty and pride had induced her to strive to think less of
him, she was compelled to substitute regret that her own act had driven
him from her in sorrow, if not in desperation. It is not in the nature
of youth, however, to despair; and Frances now knew a secret joy that
gave a new spring to her existence.
Pages:
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451