98
ETHEL CHURCHILL.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE AUTHOR AND THE ACTRESS.
I cannot count the changes of my heart,
So often has it turned away from things
Once idols of its being. They depart—
Hopes, fancies, joys, illusions, as if wings
Sprang suddenly from all old ties, to start;
Or, if they linger longer, life but brings
Weariness, hollowness, canker, soil, and stain,
Till the heart saith of pleasure, it is pain.
"How beautiful she looked! but how pale!" exclaimed Walter Maynard, who had seen Miss Churchill, the night before at the theatre; "and she is not married yet! Is it possible that she can know what it is to have the heart feed upon itself?—to dream,
