Jane's heart sank at the visible signs of his departure. She sighed; and
then, partly to divert his attention, told him hastily there was a letter
from Alfred. On this he ran upstairs and told Mrs. Dodd; and she came
downstairs, and after a conversation took Jane up softly to her friend's
room.
They opened the door gently, and Jane saw the grief she was come to
console--or to embitter.
Such a change! instead of the bright, elastic, impetuous young beauty,
there sat a pale, languid girl, with "weary of the world" written on
every part of her eloquent body; her right hand dangled by her side, and
on the ground beneath it lay a piece of work she had been attempting; but
it had escaped from those listless fingers: her left arm was stretched at
full length on the table with an unspeakable abandon, and her brow laid
wearily on it above the elbow. So lies the wounded bird, so droops the
broken lily.
She did not move for Jane's light foot. She often sat thus, a drooping
statue, and let the people come and go unheeded.
Jane's heart yearned for her. She came softly and laid a little hand
lightly on her shoulder, and true to her creed that we must look upward
for consolation, said in her ear, and in solemn silvery tones, "Our light
affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more
exceeding and eternal weight of glory.
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