Produced by David Widger
By Edward Bulwer-Lytton
On waking some morning, have you ever felt, reader, as if a change forthe brighter in the world, without and within you, had suddenly come topass-some new glory has been given to the sunshine, some fresh balm tothe air-you feel younger, and happier, and lighter, in the very beat ofyour heart-you almost fancy you hear the chime of some spiritual musicfar off, as if in the deeps of heaven? You are not at first conscioushow, or wherefore, this change has been brought about. Is it the effectof a dream in the gone sleep, that has made this morning so differentfrom mornings that have dawned before? And while vaguely asking yourselfthat question, you become aware that the cause is no mere illusion, thatit has its substance in words spoken by living lips, in things thatbelong to the work-day world.
It was thus that Isaura woke the morning after the conversation withAlain de Rochebriant, and as certain words, then spoken, echoed back onher ear, she knew why she was so happy, why the world was so changed.
In those words she heard the voice of Graham Vane—nor she had notdeceived herself—she was loved! she was loved! What mattered that longcold interval of absence? She had not forgotten—she could not believethat absence had brought forgetfulness. There are moments when weinsist on judging another's heart by our own. All would be explainedsome day—all would come right.
How lovely was the face that reflected itself in the glass as she stoodbefore it, smoothing back her long hair, murmuring sweet snatches ofItalian love-song, and blushing with sweeter love-thoughts as she sang!All that had passed in that year so critical to her outer life—theauthorship, the fame, the public career, the popular praise—vanishedfrom her mind as a vapour that rolls from the face of a lake to which thesunlight restores the smile of a brightened heaven.
She was more the girl now than she had ever been since the day on whichshe sat reading Tasso on the craggy shore of Sorrento.
Singing still as she passed from her chamber, and entering the sitting-room, which fronted the east, and seemed bathed in the sunbeams ofdeepening May, she took her bird from its cage, and stopped her song tocover it with kisses, which perhaps yearned for vent somewhere.
Later in the day she went out to visit Valerie. Recalling the alteredmanner of her young friend, her sweet nature became troubled. Shedivined that Valerie had conceived some jealous pain which she longed toheal; she could not bear the thought of leaving any one that day unhappy.Ignorant before of the girl's feelings towards Alain, she now partlyguessed them—one woman who loves in secret is clairvoyante as to suchsecrets in another.
Valerie received her visitor with a coldness she did not attempt todisguise. Not seeming to notice this, Isaura commenced the conversationwith frank mention of Rochebriant. "I have to thank you so much, dearValerie, for a pleasure you could not anticipate—that of talking aboutan absent friend, and hearing the praise he deserved from one so capableof appreciating excellence as M. de Rochebriant appears to be."
"You were talking to M. de Rochebriant of an absent friend—ah! youseemed indeed very much interested in the conversation—"
"Do not wonder at that, Valerie; and do not grudge me the happiestmoments I have known for months."...