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. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. She had always loved babies, like you! We ran away to the Barbars, back then, the land of the barbarian North. You Ann Veronica?” “Rather! I say—did you marry Gwen?” “Yes. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. Our ideal had fallen.
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