"Will you go, love?" I asked, as she folded it.
"Yes,--the old man has no one to care for him but me, and it is so
beautiful to be loved."
A sudden smile touched her lips, and a soft dew shone in the shadowy
eyes, which seemed looking into other and tenderer ones than mine. She
could not know how sadly I echoed those words, nor how I longed to tell
her of another man who sighed to be forgiven.
"You must gather roses for these pale cheeks among the breezy moorlands,
dear. They are not so blooming as they were a year ago. Jean would
reproach me for my want of care," I said, trying to speak cheerfully,
though each word seemed a farewell.
"Poor Jean! how long it seems since she kissed them last!" sighed Effie,
musing sadly, as she turned her wedding-ring.
My heart ached to see how thin the hand had grown, and how easily that
little fetter would fall off when I set my captive lark at liberty.