The Wildfire Club - The Emma Hardinge Britten Archive

OR THE LAST TENANT. 67
the sun of her life, the 'element of her being, vowing
allegiance to one whom in her inmost consciousness she
believed he could not love.
" I would buy his happiness with the misery of a long
life," she thought. "I would drink the cup of sorrow to
the very dregs; I would steep myself to the very lips in
poverty, suffering,' and want to insure him a life of !lunshine
and peace. But 0, to meet his haggard eyes,
turned 80 imploringly to mine, without the power, or even
now, alas! the right to speak one word of comfort to him!
o Harry, Harry! I could bear thy loss; but I cannot thus
endure to witness thf sufferings! "
Thus, in the depths of her writhing spirit, alone in her
remote little chamber, reasoned the sorrowful girl, while the
village bells rung out their merry peals of hollow, mocking
laughter over the sacrifice of the perjured bridegroom.
Ding dong! ding dong! on they clash and gibber,
while the village maids strew pale roses and spotless lilies
beneath the feet of the fair and haughty bride. Ding
dong! ding dong! pealing on the tuneful requiem of the
dead heart of the m\jerable young bridegroom. Ding
dong! ding dong I they shriek in the ears of the conscience-stricken
father, who bares his white head to the
breeze which seems whispering, " Thou hast sold thy child,
and bartered thy peace of mind for a mess of pottage."
Weep for the mocking mirth of that sinful wedding day.
Mourn for the white lips which pronounced falRe oaths at
the altar dedicated to God and truth. Censure, yet pity,
the guilty father who conspired to crush out the light of
life and. hope from two loving young hearts, that he4lIlight
provide a home and comforts for that doubtful morrow
which man may never dare to call his own.
Din:g dong! ding dong! Will the clash of that mock-