“A something light as air,—a look, A word unkind, or wrongly taken, Oh! love that tempests never shook A breath, a touch like this hath shaken! And ruder words will soon rush in To spread the breach that words begin, And eyes forget the gentle ray They wore in courtship’s smiling day, And voices lose the tone that shed A tenderness o’er all they said;— Till fast declining, one by one The sweetnesses of love are gone, And hearts, so lately mingled, seem Like broken clouds, or like the stream That smiling leaves the mountain’s brow, As though its waters ne’er could sever, Yet, ere it reach the plain below, Breaks into floods, that part for ever!” MOORE. The Earl and Countess of Dashleigh now found less enjoyment in the mutual converse which had once made their days flow so pleasantly and swiftly, and which had been especially appreciated by Dashleigh, whose reserve or pride made him avoid much general society. When Annabella’s wit sparkled before him, he had needed no other amusement, and in the first part of her wedded life, she had required no other auditor than him who listened with so partial an ear. But each now felt that a change had come, as water penetrating the crevices of a rock, and then freezing, sometimes by its sudden expansion bursts asunder the solid stone, and severs it as effectually by silent power as a gunpowder blast could have done, so secret pride in both hearts was gradually, fatally dividing those bound to each other by the closest of earthly ties! There was yet, however, no open quarrel; the world was not called in as a spectator of domestic disunion. There was no appearance of want of harmony as, on the occasion which I am about to relate, the husband and the wife sat together in the countess’s luxurious boudoir, Annabella on a damask sofa, engaged in German work, the earl at a writing-table, looking over a copy of the _Times_. There had been a long silence between them. It was broken by a question from Dashleigh. “Did you know, Annabella, that Augustine Aumerle was soon going to leave the vicarage and return to Aspendale?” “I know little of what goes on at the vicarage,” replied Annabella, after pausing to count stitches in her pattern; “I think that Ida must have cut me, she so seldom comes to the hall.” “There are to be great doings at Aspendale,” resumed Dashleigh; “I saw Augustine this morning during my ride, and he told me of his novel arrangements. He expects soon a visit from Verdon, the well-known æronaut; I wonder that he keeps up acquaintance with one who may be regarded as a public exhibitor; but that is his business, not mine; it seems that they were school-fellows together, and it is not easy to break off old friendships.”