der themselves absurd if they _at once_
set their minds upon being dukes and princes; they only want to be a
_little_ bit higher, only the _smallest bit_, and never for a moment
look to what they call "_beneath_ them" for happiness. This was
particularly the case with these young girls. Their station was not
defined, yet how different their practice! One was ambitious of the
glittering tinsel of the world--the other, refined but not ambitious,
sought her happiness in the proper exercise of the affections; neither
could have described her particular feelings, but an accurate observer
could not fail to do so for them. That night neither girl had courage
to speak to the other on the occurrences of the past day, and yet each
thought of nothing else. They knelt down, side by side, as they
had done from infancy, repeating the usual prayers as they had been
accustomed to do. Helen's voice did not falter, but continued its
unvaried tone to the end: Rose (Helen thought) delivered the petition
of "lead us not into temptation" with deeper feeling than usual; and
instead of rising when Helen rose, and exchanging with her the kiss
of sisterly affection, Rose buried her face in her hands; while her
cousin, seated opposite the small glass which stood on their little
dressing-table, commenced curling her hair, as if that day, which had
completed a revolution in her way of thinking, had been as smooth as
all the other days of her short calendar. The candle was extinguished,
and Helen slept profoundly. The moon shone in brightly through the
latticed window, whose leaden cross-bars chequered the sanded floor.
Rose looked earnestly upon the face of the sleeper, and so bright it
was, that she saw, or fancied she saw, a smile of triumph curling
on her lip. She crept quietly out of bed, and leaned her throbbing
temples against the cool glass. How deserted the long street of
Abbeyweld appeared; the shadows of the opposite trees and houses
lay prostrate across the road--the aspect of the village street was
lonely, very lonely and sad--there was no hum from the school--no
inquisitive eyes peeped from the casements--no echoing steps upon
the neatly-gravelled footpath--the old elm-tree showed like a mighty
giant, standing out against the clear calm sky--and there was one
star, only one, sparkling amid its branches--a diamond of the heavens,
shedding its brightness on the earth. The stillness was positively
oppressive. Rose felt as if every time she