patiently?" and as Gerald spoke, he looked up smilingly
into his companion's face.

Why did Theresa's cheek flush at these simple words? I know not; I
only know that it grew pale and ashy as Gerald proceeded to relate the
story whose hearing he had solicited, and in the impassioned words of
love to paint his devotion--not to her who sat beside him, but to the
sister whose outward beauty had won more than all _her_ gifts. He
spoke of time to come, of being to her as a brother, of a home in
common, and then he dwelt with a lover's rapture on the attractions of
his promised bride, those charms she had often extolled to him with a
poet's appreciation, and now heard praised in breathless agony. The
bitterness, not of jealousy, but of despair, was in her soul--a pang
for which there was no expression and no relief. Never more might she
return to the hope his words had shattered, the trust she had indulged
too long. All that had scattered her path with flowers, and thrown
around her life's sweetest illusions was lost to her now; the
confessions she had heard, raised a barrier not to be passed between
herself and those she held dearest, and the sister for whom she would
have laid down her life, claimed a sadder sacrifice, and glided a
rival between her heart and its reliance. But to all his confidings
she listened silently, and when he ceased to speak, she answered him
kindly and gently. Love is selfish, and in the egotism of his own
feelings, Gerald heeded not that his companion's voice faltered; and
they parted without a suspicion in his mind of the suffering he had
occasioned. Alas! such brief tragedies are acting every day in our
household circles, and we note them not; bright eyes become tranquil,
glowing cheeks look pale, and young hearts, once high with hope and
energy, grow weary and listless; and we talk of illness, and call in
science to name the disease, which is nothing but sorrow. There are,
without doubt, solitary hours in human experience which do the work of
years, forcing suspicion to dawn, and tempting despondency to deepen.
Life should be measured by such hours, and they who feel most keenly
are the ones who, in truth, live longest.

Certain it is that Theresa passed in those few moments to a new
existence--to a being wholly different from her former self. The
rainbow tints had faded from her sky, and the stars in her futurity
had ceased to shine. What to her were all her mental gifts, when they
had failed