“A something light as air,—a look, A word unkind, or wrongly taken,
Oh! love that tempests never shook
A breath, a touch like this hath shaken!
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin,
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship’s smiling day,
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness o’er all they said;—
Till fast declining, one by one
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds, or like the stream
That smiling leaves the mountain’s brow,
As though its waters ne’er could sever,
Yet, ere it reach the plain below,
Breaks into floods, that part for ever!”
Moore.
The Earl and Countess of Dashleigh now found less enjoyment in the mutual converse which had once made their days flow so pleasantly and swiftly, and which had been especially appreciated by Dashleigh, whose reserve or pride made him avoid much general society. When Annabella’s wit sparkled before him, he had needed no other amusement, and in the first part of her wedded life, she had required no other auditor than him who listened with so partial an ear. But each now felt that a change had come, as water[103] penetrating the crevices of a rock, and then freezing, sometimes by its sudden expansion bursts asunder the solid stone, and severs it as effectually by silent power as a gunpowder blast could have done, so secret pride in both hearts was gradually, fatally dividing those bound to each other by the closest of earthly ties! There was yet, however, no open quarrel; the world was not called in as a spectator of domestic disunion. There was no appearance of want of harmony as, on the occasion which I am about to relate, the husband and the wife sat together in the countess’s luxurious boudoir, Annabella on a damask sofa, engaged in German work, the earl at a writing-table, looking over a copy of the Times.
There had been a long silence between them. It was broken by a question from Dashleigh.
“Did you know, Annabella, that Augustine Aumerle was soon going to leave the vicarage and return to Aspendale?”
“I know little of what goes on at the vicarage,” replied Annabella, after pausing to count stitches in her pattern; “I think that Ida must have cut me, she so seldom comes to the hall.”
“There are to be great doings at Aspendale,” resumed Dashleigh; “I saw Augustine this morning during my ride, and he told me of his novel arrangements. He expects soon a visit from Verdon, the well-known ?ronaut; I wonder that he keeps up acquaintance with one who may be regarded as a[104] public exhibitor; but that is his business, not mine; it seems that they were school-fellows together, and it is not easy to break off old friendships.”
“If there be such a thing as a lofty profession it is Mr. Verdon’s, without doubt,” said Annabella; “the aspirations of an ?ronaut must mount higher than even those of a peer!”
“It appears,” continued Dashleigh, without seeming to take notice of the observation, “that Mr. Verdon is to give his new grand balloon a trial trip from Augustine’s grounds.”
“Oh, how I should like to be there!” cried the countess.
“Augustine has invited us both,”—Annabella clapped her hands like a child,—“but the difficulty is that he will not be able himself to do the honours of his house, as he is to accompany Verdon in his upward flight.”
“Is he?” exclaimed the young countess; “that will be charming! Such a genius will mount up so high, that the silken ball will have no need of hydrogen gas! He will but inflate it with poetical ideas, and it will never stop short of the stars!”
The earl smiled at the idea. “I should be well pleased to see the ascent,” he observed; “but yet I am doubtful about accepting the invitation. It would, you see, be awkward for those in our position of life to be guests at the table of a man who was at the moment up in the clouds.”
 
Tearing the Manuscript.
 
Page 107.
 
[105]
Annabella burst into a girlish laugh. “You are afraid that he might look down even upon us,” she cried.
“I doubt whether etiquette would allow—”
“Throw etiquette to the dogs!” exclaimed Annabella, heedless of her husband’s look of disgust at such an audacious parody on Shakspeare. “I must, will go to Aspendale! It will be such fun! I have half a mind to ascend in the balloon myself!”
“It would be very unsuitable for a lady,” began the earl,—
“Unless her lord would accompany her,” said Annabella, archly; “we might obtain as fine a view as from Mont Blanc, without all the trouble of climbing.”
The earl always winced under any allusion to his mountain adventure.
“But then,” continued Annabella maliciously, “it would never do to get giddy,—suspended between earth and sky,—there would be no hope of the friendly intervention of a lady’s boa!”
“I should not have the slightest objection, not the slightest,” repeated the irritated earl, “to go in a balloon to-morrow; indeed, I think it very probable that I shall make one of Augustine’s party.”
Annabella was diverted to see that she had succeeded in putting her haughty lord on his mettle.[106] It seems an instinct with some natures to delight in showing a power to tease, and it had become stronger with the countess since her disappointment regarding her romance. She was like a child playing with fire-arms, ignorant of their dangerous nature. Annabella knew the weakness of her husband’s nerves, but not the full strength of his pride.
“I was reading yesterday a curious account of a balloon ascent,” continued the earl, in a quieter tone; “and, by-the-bye, I have not quite finish............