Maya—­delusion!  That strange trouble, sweet and thrilling, which disturbed Leam’s whole being; Edgar’s unfathomable eyes, which seemed almost to burn as she looked at them; his altered voice, scarcely recognizable it was so changed—­all a mere phantasy born of a dream—­all, what is so much in this life of ours, a mockery, a mistake, a vague hope without roots, a shadowy heaven that had no place in fact, the cold residuum of enthralling and bewitching myths—­all Maya, delusion!

CHAPTER XXXI.

BY THE BROAD.

After that scene in the pony-carriage Leam began to take it to heart that little Fina did not love her.  Hitherto, solicitous only to do her duty unrelated to sentiment, she had not cared to win the child’s rootless and unmeaning affection:  now she longed to hear her say to Major Harrowby, “I love Leam.”  She did not care about her saying it to any one else, but she thought it would be pleasant to see Edgar smile on her as he had smiled at Josephine when Fina had crawled on to her lap that day of Maya, and said, “You are far nicer, Missy Joseph.”

She would like to have Edgar’s good opinion.  Indeed, that was only proper gratitude to a friend, not unwomanly submission to the great young man of the place.  He was invariably kind to her, and he had done much to make her cheerless life less dreary.  He had lent her books to read, and had shown her pretty places in the district which she would never have seen but for him:  he talked to her as if he liked talking to her, and he had defended her when Adelaide was rude.  It was right, then, that she should wish to please him and show him that she deserved his respect.

Hence she put out her strength to win Fina’s love that she might hear her say, when next Major Harrowby asked her, “Yes, I love Leam.”

But who ever gained by conscious endeavor the love that was not given by the free sympathies of Nature?  Hearts have been broken and lives ruined before now for the want of a spell strong enough to turn the natural course of feeling; and Leam’s success with Fina was no exception to the common experience.  The more she sought to please her the less she succeeded; and, save that the child grew disobedient in proportion to the new indulgences granted, no change was effected.

How should there be a change?  Leam could not romp, was not fond of kissing, knew no childish games, could not enter into childish nonsense, was entirely incapable of making believe, never seemed to be thinking of what she was about, and had big serious eyes that oppressed the little one with a sense of awe not conducive to love, and of which she dreamed with terrifying adjuncts when she had had too much cake too late at night.  What there was of sterling in Leam had no charm for, because no point of contact with, Fina.  Thus, all her efforts went astray, and the child loved her no better for being coaxed by methods that did not amuse her.  At the end of all she still said with her pretty pout that Leam was cross—­she would not talk to her about mamma.