224
ETHEL CHURCHILL.
CHAPTER XXIX.
MIDNIGHT.
Where is the heart that has not bowed
A slave, eternal Love, to thee?
Look on the cold, the gay, the proud,
And is there one among them free?
And what must love be in a heart
All passion's fiery depths concealing,
Which has in its minutest part
More than another's whole of feeling!
Henrietta pressed her temples on the cushion, but it did not still their tumultuous pain. The door closed after Walter Maynard, and it sank like a knell upon her ear. She listened to his receding footsteps, and when they died away, she still held her breath to listen; there was a deep silence, and she felt
