Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland by Abigail Stanley Hanna
page 74 of 371 (19%)
page 74 of 371 (19%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
window, leaning her cheek upon her hand, with her elbow resting upon
the window stool, she sat looking back into the silent chambers of the past. The wan, declining moon looked coldly down upon her, as it peeped out behind --"the broken parted clouds, Brightening their dark brown sides." She sat, pale and motionless, till the stars faded from the sky, and the golden king of day announced his coming, by streaking the east with his herald beams. She was accosted by her companions, with many compliments upon her looks, as they joked her upon the return of her lover, and concluded by sympathising with her in his early departure for L., the residence of his father. Little thought these careless ones how deep a wound they were inflicting upon the heart of the sensitive Annie. She never told her grief, but strove to hide her feelings in her own bosom. She could not think he had forsaken her, but often would she think it was indeed his last kiss. About this time the owners of the factory concluded their profits did not amount to what they anticipated, and therefore, dismissed their help and shut up their factory. The circumstances of Edward and Annie had now become generally known. She said little, only affirming he should have all the honor there was to be had, for she had much rather have the name of being deceived, than keeping company with a man so long she did not love; but every |
|