Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures | Page 7

his arms. Then all became still, and he
felt her lying heavier and heavier against him. In a little while he was
conscious that he clasped to his heart only the earthly semblance of one

who had passed away forever.
Replacing the light and faded form of her who, a little while before, had
been in the vigor of health, upon the bed, Edwin gazed upon the sunken
features for a few moments, and then, leaving a last kiss upon her cold
lips, hurried aware.
Another page in his Book of Life was written, There was another
record there from which memory, in after life, could read. And such a
record! What would he not have given to erase that page!
When the body of Edith Walter was borne to its last resting-place,
Florence was among the mourners. After looking his last look upon the
coffin that contained the body, he went away, sadder in heart than he
had ever been in his life. He was not only a prey to sadness, but to
painful self-accusation. In his perfidy lay the cause of her death. He had
broken the heart that confided in him, and only repented of his error
when it was too late to repair the ruin.
As to what was thought or said of him by others, Edwin Florence cared
but little. There was enough of pain in his own self-consciousness. He
withdrew himself from the social circle, and, for several years, lived a
kind of hermit-life in the midst of society. But, he was far from being
happy in his solitude; for Memory was with him, and almost daily,
from the Book of his Life, read to him some darkly written page.
One day, it was three years from the time he parted with Edith in the
chamber of death, and when he was beginning to rise in a measure
above the depressing influences attendant upon that event,--he received
an invitation to make one of a social party on the next evening. The
desire to go back again in society had been gaining strength with him
for some time; and, as it had gained strength, reason had pointed out
the error of his voluntary seclusion as unavailing to alter the past.
"The past is past," he said to himself, as he mused with the invitation in
his hand. "I cannot recall it--I cannot change it. If repentance can in any
way atone for error, surely I have made atonement; for my repentance
has been long and sincere. If Edith can see my heart, her spirit must be

satisfied. Even she could not wish for this living burial. It is better for
me to mingle in society as of old."
Acting on this view, Florence made one on the next evening, in a social
party. He felt strangely, for his mind was invaded by old influences,
and touched by old impressions. He saw, in many a light and airy form,
as it glanced before him, the image of one long since passed away; and
heard, in the voices that filled the rooms, many a tone that it seemed
must have come from the lips of Edith. How busy was Memory again
with the past. In vain he sought to shut out the images that arose in his
mind. The page was open before him, and what was impressed thereon
he could not but see and read.
This passed, in some degree, away as the evening progressed, and he
came nearer, so to speak, to some of those who made up the happy
company. Among those present was a young lady from a neighboring
city, who attracted much attention both from her manners and person.
She fixed the eyes of Mr. Florence soon after he entered the room, and,
half unconsciously to himself, his observation was frequently directed
towards her.
"Who is that lady?" he asked of a friend, an hour after his arrival.
"Her name is Miss Welden. She is from Albany."
"She has a very interesting face," said Florence.
"And quite as interesting a mind. Miss Weldon is a charming girl."
Not long after, the two were thrown near together, when an
introduction took place. The conversation of the young lady interested
Florence, and in her society he passed half an hour most pleasantly.
While talking with more than usual animation, in lifting his eyes he
saw that some one on, the opposite side of the room was observing him
attentively. For the moment this did not produce any effect. But, in
looking up again, he saw the same eyes upon him, and felt their
expression as unpleasant. He now, for the first time, became aware that
the aunt of Edith Walter was present. She it was who had been

regarding him so attentively. From that instant his heart