Lodore by Mary Shelley

How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen. What old December's bareness every where! --Shakspeare.

Ethel cheered herself to amuse her aunt; and, as in her days of hopeless love, she tried to shorten the hours by occupation. It was difficult; for all her thoughts were employed in conjectures as to where Edward was, what doing--in looking at her watch, and following in her mind all his actions--or in meditating how hereafter she might remedy any remissness on her part, (so tender was her conscience,) and best contribute to his happiness. Such reveries beguiled many hours, and enabled her to endure with some show of courage the pains of absence. Each day she heard from him--each day she wrote, and this entire pouring out of herself on paper formed the charm of her existence. She endeavoured to persuade him how fortunate their lot might hereafter be--how many of his fears were unfounded or misplaced.