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Updated: June 16, 2025
To give up her friend the dear knight of her girlhood's dreams to see him never again, to close her heart to him, to shut out the very memory of him, to take up her life without him no, never, never, never! Her throbbing heart cried out against it. It was not to be borne. A fury akin to hatred surged up within her. There was no man living who could make her do this thing.
Over the fireplace hung an old sampler, worked by her deft fingers in girlhood's days her maiden name spelt out in now faded silks, with a tree of paradise on either side and under it the date of a forgotten year; while an old leather-cased Bible, in which were inscribed the epochs of the family, lay open upon a chair.
And Blodgett was gone; he had died defending them, where he had been stationed. That was an answer. There, too, far away in another State, lay the lover of her girlhood's happy day, the bright-eyed, eager, gallant, joyous lad. What good comrades they had been!
John and Amelia Phillips put their own unjustifiable dislike of Stephen aside when they found that Emily's heart was set on him. The two were married after a brief courtship and Emily went out from her girlhood's home to the Fair homestead, two miles away. Stephen's mother lived with them. Janet Fair had never liked Emily. She had not been willing for Stephen to marry her.
She had been made much of by her brother's friends, and some of the literary women she had met. She began to realise it was not altogether wandering at one's sweet will, unless one had a garden of unfailing bloom in which to gather the flowers of poetry, or even prose. There were greater heights than even girlhood's visions.
Never once did Harold's conversation assimilate to that which had so struck Olive when they stood beside poor Sara's grave. It seemed as though the former Harold Gwynne the object of her girlhood's dislike, her father's enemy, her friend's husband had vanished for ever, and in his stead was a man whose strong individuality of character already interested her.
"You mistake," said she; "if my name brings up a past laden with bitter memories and shadowed by regret, it also recalls much that is pleasant and never to be forgotten. I do not object to hearing my girlhood's name uttered by my nearest relative." The answer was dignity itself. "Your name is Countess De Mirac, your relatives must be proud to utter it."
She does not know it, but as the first reflection of the dawn strikes the unconscious sky and shadows the coming of its king, so the red flush that now so often springs unbidden to her brow, tells of girlhood's twilight ended, and proclaims the advent of woman's life and love. "Angela," called her father one day, as he heard her footsteps passing his study, "come in here; I want to speak to you."
Paul offered himself to the Foreign Legion; his wife volunteered to nurse in a military hospital at Nancy; and Madame Herter, mère took refuge in her girlhood's home at Lunéville, where her old father still lived. Then came the rush of the Huns across the frontier. Paul's wife was killed by a Zeppelin bomb which wrecked her hospital.
"And what is to become of the landlords?" inquired Polly, with a wistful remembrance of her girlhood's beautiful home. But to this question there has been no reply, and none has been offered yet.
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