TWENTY FIVE
I know not how I slept, nor by what hour; perchance the tumult of emotions that swept through me like a tempest had left me wholly spent. At dawn I awoke to the sweet twittering of birds, and the tranquil silence of the morning stirred within me a thousand tender recollections. For a moment, I stood entranced by the scene’s ethereal beauty as I gazed from my window. On a sudden impulse, I resolved to don my riding attire — a gentleman’s frock most unsuitable for a lady, and one I knew Papa would surely disapprove of. Yet I made a quiet vow to return before anyone in the house should awake. In my haste I forgot my hat — which, upon reflection, was a blessing; perhaps the morning wind might aid in clearing the heaviness of my thoughts. I stole softly to the stables where my faithful hors
- Writer
