CHAPTER XXXIII. WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A SUDDEN CHECK

Springflewswiftlyby,andsummercame.Ifthevillagehadbeenbeautifulatfirstitwasnowinthefullglowandluxurianceofitsrichness.Thegreattrees,whichhadlookedshrunkenandbareintheearliermonths,hadnowburstintostronglifeandhealthandstretchingforththeirgreenarmsoverthethirstyground,convertedopenandnakedspotsintochoicenooks,wherewasadeepandpleasantshadefromwhichtolookuponthewideprospect,steepedinsunshine,whichlaystretchedbeyond.Theearthhaddonnedhermantleofbrightestgreenandshedherrichestperfumesabroad.Itwastheprimeandvigouroftheyearallthingsweregladandflourishing. Still,thesamequietlifewentonatthelittlecottage,andthesamecheerfulserenityprevailedamongitsinmates.Oliverhadlongsincegrownstoutandhealthybuthealthorsicknessmadenodifferenceinhiswarmfeelingsofagreatmanypeople.Hewasstillthesamegentle,attached,affectionatecreaturethathehadbeenwhenpainandsufferinghadwastedhisstrength,andwhenhewasdependentforeveryslightattention,andcomfortonthosewhotendedhim. Onebeautifulnight,whentheyhadtakenalongerwalkthanwascustomarywiththem:forthedayhadbeenunusuallywarm,andtherewasabrilliantmoon,andalightwindhadsprungup,whichwasunusuallyrefreshing.Rosehadbeeninhighspirits,too,andtheyhadwalkedon,inmerryconversation,untiltheyhadfarexceededtheirordinarybounds.Mrs.Mayliebeingfatigued,theyreturnedmoreslowlyhome.Theyoungladymerelythrowingoffhersimplebonnet,satdowntothepianoasusual.Afterrunningabstractedlyoverthekeysforafewminutes,shefellintoalowandverysolemnairandassheplayedit,theyheardasoundasifshewereweeping. “Rose,mydear!”saidtheelderlady. Rosemadenoreply,butplayedalittlequicker,asthoughthewordshadrousedherfromsomepainfulthoughts. “Rose,mylove!”criedMrs.Maylie,risinghastily,andbendingoverher.“Whatisthis?Intears!Mydearchild,whatdistressesyou?” “Nothing,auntnothing,”repliedtheyounglady.“Idon’tknowwhatitisIcan’tdescribeitbutIfeel—” “Notill,mylove?”interposedMrs.Maylie. “No,no!Oh,notill!”repliedRose:shudderingasthoughsomedeadlychillnesswerepassingoverher,whileshespoke“Ishallbebetterpresently.Closethewindow,pray!” Oliverhastenedtocomplywithherrequest.Theyounglady,makinganefforttorecoverhercheerfulness,strovetoplaysomeliveliertunebutherfingersdroppedpowerlessoverthekeys.Coveringherfacewithherhands,shesankuponasofa,andgaveventtothetearswhichshewasnowunabletorepress. “Mychild!”saidtheelderlylady,foldingherarmsabouther,“Ineversawyousobefore.” “IwouldnotalarmyouifIcouldavoidit,”rejoinedRose“butindeedIhavetriedveryhard,andcannothelpthis.IfearIamill,aunt.” Shewas,indeedfor,whencandleswerebrought,theysawthatintheveryshorttimewhichhadelapsedsincetheirreturnhome,thehueofhercountenancehadchangedtoamarblewhiteness.Itsexpressionhadlostnothingofitsbeautybutitwaschangedandtherewasananxioushaggardlookaboutthegentleface,whichithadneverwornbefore.Anotherminute,anditwassuffusedwithacrimsonflush:andaheavywildnesscameoverthesoftblueeye.Againthisdisappeared,liketheshadowthrownbyapassingcloudandshewasoncemoredeadlypale. Oliver,whowatchedtheoldladyanxiously,observedtha