Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland by Abigail Stanley Hanna
page 66 of 371 (17%)
page 66 of 371 (17%)
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sable dress that Annie wore become her fine complexion, for the rose
blended with the lily upon her cheek, and beauty sat triumphant upon her ruby lips and sparkled in her dark flashing eyes. But recent events had cast an expression of melancholy over her countenance, which for a moment had a sobering influence over her young companions when she joined them. Edward and Annie lingered a little behind the rest, talking of their future prospects, and of the coming separation, as Edward was soon to leave for Boston, where a more desirable situation was offered him than could be obtained in the village. "My increased income, my dear Annie, will enable me the sooner to claim you for my bride; true, the separation will be painful, but I am determined never to marry till I can commence house-keeping genteelly." She looked earnestly in his face and said, "Edward, it is home where the heart is, and it seems to me we should not spurn a present for a future good. This life is short and uncertain, and I feel a gloomy foreboding when I think of your departure, I have been so accustomed to seeing you every day, to leaning on your arm in every walk, and going so constantly with you everywhere, that I shall miss you sadly when you are away; but," she continued, smiling through her tears, "I suppose I must turn nun" and live in seclusion during your absence?" "O, do not do that," he replied, smiling; "It will be but for a short time, and it is said, 'absence lends enchantment to the view.'" "O, dear," cried Melinda, a blue eyed beauty, leaning confidently upon |
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