The String of Pearls (1850), p. 272

"Johanna?"
"Yes—yes, Arabella. I am here."
"Yes, dear Johanna. But you are weeping."
"I am—I am. To you these tears shall be no secret, Arabella. Alas! alas!
You, who know my heart, know how much I have to weep for. You can bear
with me. You are the only one in all the world whom I would willingly let see
these bitter—bitter tears."
At those words, Johanna wept afresh, and the heart of her young friend was
melted; but recovering sooner than Johanna, Arabella was able to speak some-
what composedly to her, saying—
"Have you heard anything, Johanna, new?"
"No—no. Except that Mr. Jeffery wishes to see me again to tell me something, and as he has not said in his letter what it is, I can guess it is no good
news."
"Nay; is not that assuming too much?"
"No—no. I know he would, if he had had any joyous intelligence for me,
have written it. He would feel of what a suspense even a few hours would be
upon such a subject. No, Arabella, I feel that what he has to say is some terrible confirmation of my worst fears."
Arabella found it no easy task to combat this course of reasoning upon the
part of Johanna. She felt its force, and yet she felt at the same time that it was
somewhat incumbent upon her to resist it, and to make at least the endeavour to
ward off the deep depression that had seized upon Johanna.
"Now listen to me,: she said. "Perhaps what Colonel Jeffery has to say to
you is, after all, a something hopeful ; but, at the same time, being only hopeful, and nothing positive, he may have felt how difficult it was to write it, without exciting undue effects in your mind, and so prefers saying it, when he can
accompany it by all the little collateral circumstances which alone can give it its proper value."
There was something like a gleam of sunshine in this idea.
"Do you understand me, dear Johanna?"
"Yes—yes."
Johanna spoke more firmly than before. The last argument of her friend
had had all its weight with her, and had chased away many of the gloomy
thoughts that had but a few moments before possessed her. What a strange com-
pound is the human mind, and how singularly does it take its texture, cameleon-like, from surrounding circumstances? But a few moments since, and, to Johanna the brief epistle of the colonel was suggestive of nothing but despair. How different now was its aspect? Arebella Wilmot had, by a few simple words, placed it in a new light, so that it started to the imagination of Johanna symbols of life.
"Ah! you are hoping now," said Arabella.
"I am—I am. Perhaps it is as you say, Arabella. I will think it is."
Miss Wilmot was now almost afraid that she had gone too far, and conjured
up too much hope; but she could not bear the idea of dashing down again the
fairy fabric of expectation she had moved in the bosom of Johanna, and merely
added —
"Well, Johanna, since you find that the letter will, at all events, bear two
interpetrations, I am sure that, until you may be convinced it owns to the worst, vou will be as composed as possible. "
"I will. And now, Arabella, will you, and can you accompany me this evening to the Temple Gardens, to meet Colonel Jeffery?"
"Yes, Johanna. 1 both can and will, if such is your wish."
"It is, Arabella, much my wish, for I feel that if what our friend, the colonel, has to say, should not be of a hopeful character, I should never be able to repeat it to you, so as to have your opinion of it."
"Then we will go together. But we will not pass that dreadful man's shop."