“Gross. She leaves town to-morrow. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. ’ ‘Yes, but if it is only we that know, it is of no use at all to me.
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