167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. 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. One day she desisted from her search and went unexpectedly to the Tredgold College. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. She finished the olive and looked up. Do you have family that I should ask?” “Oh, Julian! No, my family is dead, lost. Where can I have heard it!" "Devil knows," rejoined Blueskin. Tell me about your island.
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