"Ah, Sylvie, you think too well of me! To be famous is nothing. To
be loved is everything!"
Sylvie looked at her earnestly.
"You are loved," she said.
"No, no!" she said--"No, I am not loved. I am hated! Hush, Sylvie!--
do not say one word of what is in your mind, for I will not hear
it!"
She spoke agitatedly, and her cheeks flushed a sudden feverish red.
Sylvie made haste to try and soothe her.
"My darling girl, I would not say anything to vex you for the world!
You must not excite yourself--"
"I am not excited," said Angela, putting her arms round her friend
and drawing her fair head down till it was half hidden against her
own bosom--"No--but I must speak--bear with me for a minute, dear!
We all have our dreams, we women, and I have had mine! I dreamt
there was such a beautiful thing in the world as a great, unselfish
love,--I fancied that a woman, if gifted with a little power and
ability above the rest of her sex, could make the man she loved
proud of her--not jealous!--I thought that a lover delighted in the
attainments of his beloved--I thought there was nothing too high,
too great, too glorious to attempt for the sake of proving oneself
worthy to be loved! And now--I have found out the truth, Sylvie!--a
bitter truth, but no doubt good for me to know,--that men will kill
what they once caressed out of a mere grudge of the passing breath
called Fame! Thus, Love is not what I dreamed it; and I, who was so
foolishly glad to think that I was loved, have wakened up to know
that I am hated!--hated to the very extremity of hate, for a poor
gift of brair and hand which I wish--I wish I had never had!"
Sylvie raised her head and gently put aside the weak trembling
little hands that embraced her.
Pages:
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777