Before the cousins have been
three minutes together in Madame de Florac's salon, she sees that Clive
is in love with Ethel Newcome. She takes the boy's hand and says, "J'ai
votre secret, mon ami;" and her eyes regard him for a moment as fondly,
as tenderly, as ever they looked at his father. Oh, what tears have they
shed, gentle eyes! Oh, what faith has it kept, tender heart! If love
lives through all life; and survives through all sorrow; and remains
steadfast with us through all changes; and in all darkness of spirit
burns brightly; and, if we die, deplores us for ever, and loves still
equally; and exists with the very last gasp and throb of the faithful
bosom--whence it passes with the pure soul, beyond death; surely it shall
be immortal? Though we who remain are separated from it, is it not ours
in Heaven? If we love still those we lose, can we altogether lose those
we love? Forty years have passed away. Youth and dearest memories revisit
her, and Hope almost wakes up again out of its grave, as the constant
lady holds the young man's hand, and looks at the son of Thomas Newcome.
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