CHAPTER III.



MISTS.



Therefore thine eye through mist of many days
Shines bright; and beauty, like a lingering rose,
Sits on thy cheek, and in thy laughter plays;
While wintry frosts have fallen on thy foes,
And, like a vale that breathes the western sky,
Thy heart is green, though summer is gone by.
F. TENNYSON.


Happy Aunt Kitty!--the centre, the confidante of so much love!
Perhaps her enjoyment was the most keen and pure of all, because the
most free from self--the most devoid of those cares for the morrow,
which, after besetting middle life, often so desert old age as to
render it as free and fresh as childhood. She had known the worst:
she had been borne through by heart-whole faith and love, she had
seen how often frettings for the future were vain, and experienced
that anticipation is worse than reality. Where there was true
affection and sound trust, she could not, would not, and did not fear
for those she loved.