"And yet, Lady Arranmore, how cold is that peak of snow!--rosy though it be it only reflects the light and warmth it cannot feel. I have sometimes thought my heart was like that snowy height; in all perhaps except the imperishable pureness of its tint. To my mind there is something melancholy, almost distressing, in an evening like this; the last loveliness, the dying glory which lingers a few moments ere darkness lowers. It seems to tell us not to trust the smile of fortune, but to recollect how a night, whose darkness passeth not away, comes after." "Now, on the contrary, I look on the evening as a pledge of a brighter morrow, and as I view the sinking sun I think how he will rise again more gloriously." "Perhaps you take the right view; but what can you know of sorrow, Lady Arranmore? wedded to the man you love, gifted with all the blessings of life, the world as it were at your feet, beauty, rank, youth, health, and riches all yours; your cup is surely full?" "And in what do you differ, Miss Ravensworth? are you not also beautiful, more beautiful than I am, at least I know one who thinks so; if you are not so rich, if you own not so proud a name, it only remains for you to court and gain them; and remember to be rich is not to be happy, to be great is not to be joyful." "And know you not that it is in the heart, and nowhere else that happiness must be found in order to enjoy life? if the heart is sad, what shall make its bearer smile?" "Then it is some cross in love, some blighted affection that makes you so melancholy, so unlike the Ellen I met last Christmas? Tell me your woe as a friend, let me sympathize with your grief. It is not good to bear it alone. Come, Miss Ravensworth,--come, Ellen, let me so call you,--tell me as you would tell your friend." For some moments Ellen was silent--the hour had come at last--could she only summon courage and unburden her heart, could she make a confidante of the sister of him she loved? "No!" she exclaimed, at last. "No, dear Lady Arranmore, do not think me unfriendly, but it may not be; let me bear my cross alone; One far higher than I will support me--why should I not?" "Nay, Ellen," said the Marchioness, deeply interested in her young friend. "Nay, you mistake, even He confided His sorrows to His disciples." "If you love me, Lady Arranmore, desist; if you knew how every word pierces my heart like an arrow, you would not speak so! Let us change the subject; tell me about Naples, and the blue Mediterranean; tell me," she continued, mastering her feelings, "when the second happy event is to take place; when the Earl, your brother's marriage with Lady Alice is to be celebrated?" Though she strove to ask this question in a careless manner, as though it concerned her not, her voice so quivered and faltered towards the end of the sentence, that Lady Arranmore rather guessed than heard the concluding words. "My brother's marriage--what do you mean, dear? why, this is news to me."