Hundreds of the prayers with which we weary Heaven bring to the
suppliant no fulfilment. Once haply in life, one golden gift falls
prone in the lap--one boon full and bright, perfect from Fruition's
mint.
M. Emanuel wore the dress in which he probably purposed to travel--a
surtout, guarded with velvet; I thought him prepared for instant
departure, and yet I had understood that two days were yet to run
before the ship sailed. He looked well and cheerful. He looked kind
and benign: he came in with eagerness; he was close to me in one
second; he was all amity. It might be his bridegroom mood which thus
brightened him. Whatever the cause, I could not meet his sunshine with
cloud. If this were my last moment with him, I would not waste it in
forced, unnatural distance. I loved him well--too well not to smite
out of my path even Jealousy herself, when she would have obstructed a
kind farewell. A cordial word from his lips, or a gentle look from his
eyes, would do me good, for all the span of life that remained to me;
it would be comfort in the last strait of loneliness; I would take it--I
would taste the elixir, and pride should not spill the cup.
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