CHAPTER V. THE WHITE LADY’S SLIPPER AND THE PASSION-FLOWER.

That night Emma of Ilmenau went to her chamber with a heavy heart, and her dusky eyes were troubled with tears.  She was one of those gentle beings, who seem created only to love and to be loved.  A shade of melancholy softened her character.  She shunned the glare of daylight and of society, and wished to be alone.  Like the evening primrose, her heart opened only after sunset; but bloomed through the dark night with sweet fragrance.  Her mother, on the contrary, flaunted in the garish light of society.  There was no sympathy between them.  Their souls never approached, never understood each other, and words were often spoken which wounded deeply.  And therefore Emma of Ilmenau went to her chamber that night with tears in her eyes.

She was followed by her French chamber-maid, Madeleine, a native of Strassburg, who had grown old in the family.  In her youth, she had been poor,—­and virtuous because she had never been tempted; and, now that she had grown old, and seen no immediate reward for her virtue, as is usual with weak minds, she despaired of Providence, and regretted she had never been tempted.  Whilst this unfortunate personage was lighting the wax tapers on the toilet, and drawing the bed-curtains, and tattling about the room, Emma threw herself into an arm-chair, and, crossing her hands in her lap, and letting her head fall upon her bosom, seemed lost in a dream.

“Why have these gentle feelings been given me!” said she in her heart.  “Why have I been born with all these warm affections,—­these ardent longings after what is good, if they lead only to sorrow and disappointment?  I would love some one;—­love him once and forever;—­devote myselfto him alone,—­live for him,—­die for him,—­ exist alone in him!  But alas! in all this wide world there is none to love me, as I would be loved,—­none whom I may love, as I am capable of loving.  How empty, how desolate, seems the world about me!  Why has Heaven given me these affections, only to fall and fade!”

Alas! poor child! thou too must learn like others, that the sublime mystery of Providence goes on in silence, and gives no explanation of itself,—­no answer to our impatient questionings!

“Bless me, child, what ails you?” exclaimed Madeleine, perceiving that Emma paid no attention to her idle gossip.  “When I was of your age—­”

“Do not talk to me now, good Madeleine.  Leave me, I wish to be alone?”

“Well, here is something,” continued the maid, taking a billet from her bosom, “which I hope will enliven you.  When I was of your age—­”

“Hush! hush!” said Emma, taking the billetfrom the hard hand of Madeleine.  “Once more I beg you, leave me!  I wish to be alone!”

Madeleine took the lamp and retired slowly, wishing her young mistress many good nights and rosy dreams.  Emma broke the seal of the note.  As she read, her face became deadly pale, and then, as quick as thought, a crimson blush gleamed on her cheek, and her hands trembled.  Tenderness, pity, love, offended pride, the weakness and dignity of woman, were all mingled in her look, changing and passing over her fine countenance like cloud-shadows.  She sunk back in her chair, covering her face with her hands, as if she would hide it from herself and Heaven.