Its smooth surface soothed her nerves. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. For a space he rode the whirligig. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. He had not had time to aim the pistol. Ann Veronica sat back with a sigh of relief. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. I drew upon every skill I had ever learned in battle in 199 her tournaments.
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