.

.

Yes! Raoul was right--there is no enemy comparable with Time.

Looks, fortune, birth, breed, unequal hearts and minds--all these Love may confound and play with; but Time which divides the dead from the living, sets easily between youth and age a gulf which not only forbids love but derides: Age, I do abhor thee; Youth, I do adore thee; O, my Love, my Love is young! She could give counsel, sympathy, care; could delight in his delights, hope in his hopes, melt with his woes, and, having wept a little, find comfort for them.

She could thrill at his footsteps, blush at his salutation, sit happily beside him and talk or be silent, reading his moods.