How uncertain is our tenure of any one possession! We stand in the midst of accidents, their top and vane. Constantly looking forward, we yet hardly enjoy what is actually passing, and the substantial advantages which we see in perspective, and conceive ourselves almost certain to attain, often present to the grasp only unmeaning shadows.
What prospect can be so distinctly apparent that we may calculate on its fulfilment with unmingled confidence? However certain it may appear at the passing moment, a few brief hours, stealing silently and unheeded by, may render it one of the most unlikely things imaginable. In that short interval, the auxiliaries on which we rely, and from which our expectations mainly spring, may be subjected to influences that will entirely change their relations, or, should they themselves remain unchanged, they may fail in their resources, or the onward progress of Providence may have operated in a hundred other ways to bring us disappointment.
On the morning after Evaline de Neville had met Sir Walter Raleigh in Greenwich Park, she arose from her bed with a confident expectation that, by bringing her case under the notice of the Queen, Sir Walter would speedily release her from her present distress, and effect the liberation of her father. From what Sir Walter had said the previous night, this expectation, on the whole, was far from being unreasonable, and, though depending on various provisos, offered itself to view with the assurance of certainty. Nevertheless, one short hour had hardly elapsed ere it fell utterly to the ground.
She had just seated herself at the breakfast-table, with Martha, who was now her only and constant companion, seated at its lower end, when old Adam Green, her father’s valet, entered the chamber with a letter.
“There is a serving-man below, my lady,” he said, presenting the letter to Evaline, “who charged me to bring thee this; but he holds the name of the writer a secret. Master Gray is also below.”
“Bid Master Gray come to me, Adam,” answered Evaline, at the same time accepting the letter.
Her countenance fell as she tore the letter open. It was from Sir Walter Raleigh; and informed her, in a few cautious words, of that person’s loss of the Queen’s favour, and forced retirement from the court. Thus, in one brief moment, were all her hopes blighted,--all her expectations overthrown.