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with a friendly tenderness, half sad, half genial; only recover these. Can you advise me, Lady but his companion was apparently looking for Di, how to recover my anger?" signs of some deeper feeling. A look of disap- “Would it not be more to the purpose,” she pointment fitted across her face; and, with a said hurriedly,“ if you asked how to recover your slight change of manner, she took him out into love ? If you had ever been really in love, you the garden. “Let us come,” she said, “to our would not—" old seat-our old seat under the citrons and the “ Have occasion, you would say, to lament oranges

that my disappointment was not bitter enough to “The oranges like gold, in leafy gloom.'”

“Do not laugh,” she said gently, “ for I am Under the orange-trees they sat down to- speaking to you with all earnestness. If you had gether in silence. “Do you find me much ever really loved, life would never seem a blank changed, Mr. Marsham?" she at last said ab- to you. It might, indeed, be bitter; but even in ruptly.

the bitterness there would be something holy; In her face he did find her changed; and that and you would never, never sink to the shallow was all he was thinking of. But he could not say ennui that you now say oppresses you.” this to her; and so he answered “No."

• It is not so," said Marsham, getting more · Perhaps,” she said, with a faint smile, “ that animated ; " for I know what love is, and that, is because you have not cared to observe me too, has failed me. It has failed me like the rest closely. But I have observed you; and you are of life, and for the same reason. It is but the changed, at any rate. No, not in your face, for fragment of a far greater loss. When you knew as far as that goes you look fresher than ever, me I was full of romance. You little guessed," and far less thoughtful—or perhaps it would he added with some feeling, “how full.” Lady sound better if I said, thought-worn. Tell me," Di flushed crimson, and her breath came quickly. she added presently, “do you ever write any “But you knew me,” he went on, “not, as we poetry now?"

both of us thought, in the sunrise of my maturer “ I have written," he said, a few jingling manhood, but in what really was the sunset of rhymes for music; but, except that, nothing for my youth, and of the faith that my youth had

But wait, let me beg you wait for lived on.” a single moment, while I watch the delicious Lady Di fixed her eyes on him with a look orange-leaves, as they move and murmur over of soft compassion. “My poor friend," she said, me, against the clear, delicious sky. Let us have "you are very young still, and all this dejection a moment's golden silence—as golden as those means merely that you have not found the right happy, hanging orange-orbs.'

person. You have lost your faith in God, have He leaned back with his face turned upward, you? It is a great misfortune, doubtless. But and watched with a dreamy intensity the sky, the many true-hearted men and women have suffered fruit, and the foliage. “Yes," he exclaimed sud- the same; and have loved each other none the denly, again turning to his companion, who had less, perhaps even the better for it. And your been watching him as he had been watching the case, if you please, can of course be the same as orange-trees; “you are right. I am changed. theirs. If you will only learn of me, I may, I I have forfeited by this time all claims on the think, be able to help you. I have heard of the friendship I once had from you. You liked me life you lead, of the idle selfishness and the frionce because I was young and impetuous, and volity of it; of your perpetual restless search after because I would quote poetry by the hour to you. its shallowest pleasures. I have heard of the Now, I have no eagerness, no enthusiasm left in people you associate with—of the women like me; and without that there is no poetry possible.” Mrs. Crane, and of the men like Lord Surbiton.

And yet,” she said, “you looked happy I have watched to-day your manner among them; enough this morning; and, whenever I hear of and the picture I had formed of you is, I see, a you, I hear of you as enjoying yourself.” true one. Yourself, your affections, and your in

"Ah!” he answered, “ but I did not tell you terests are as light as a butterfly's wings, but as I was miserable. I should be a far more inter- weak and as inconstant also. You are moving esting person if I were, both to myself and others. through the world without one earnest thought But I have not even energy enough to be embit- to guide, or without one earnest work to anchor tered or disappointed. Life, I find, is not the you. Is it in that way, do you think, that faith thing I thought it was; but I feel no anger at it, is to be recovered? If you would ever believe in because it has deceived me. I merely smile at the supernatural, you must first give your affecmyself for having been the victim of the deceit. tions some stake in the natural. Or," she conWhere is my anger, where is my hate gone? tinued, looking into his eyes inquiringly, “if your Some of my old spirit would return if I could hour has not yet come, if you have not yet dis

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covered the woman that will wake up all your open with me? O my friend, do not be afraid sleeping manhood, you can at least do what is of me.” the other half of your duty-you can work for all Surely,” said Marsham, “I told you all I those depending on you; you can help to pro- could. All the subjects that had any common mote their happiness.”

interest for us, I discussed freely with you, as "I am a rich man now,” said Marsham, “and, brother would with sister. But brothers are shy as you say, I have many depending on me. But of telling sisters their love-affairs; and so I was how do you think I behave toward them? To shy with you." you I seem only an idler, and a pleasure-seeker. For some moments she was mute. Suddenly You know nothing of the dull and weary hours the fashion of her countenance changed, as his that I give to business; the dull and weary weeks meaning dawned on her. “And so," she began, that I spend at my own place in the country; "you were in love with some other woman—with the petty, wretched details with which I occupy the lady, I mean” (she corrected herself angrily), myself, that I may do what is called “my duty' “who had the honor to lose your affections as by all to whom I can be of any help."

soon as she had completed to you the full gift of “ Is this indeed so?" she said. “And do her confidence! Indeed, Mr. Marsham, if your you mean to say that you find no pleasure in the affections are of that kind, I do not wonder they -in the thought that you are making others have failed to reveal the earnestness and value happy?"

of life to you. And so you flatter yourself you “If I did not do what I could," he said, “I were in love, at that time—really in love, do you? should be certainly miserable. But, to do all I My poor friend, you make me smile to see how can, does but save me from that, and preserve you deceive yourself. I should have thought that me on the dull, dead level of painlessness. I a schoolboy would have known life better. That am not enthusiastic even about my own life. poor phase of feeling you were then passing Why should I be enthusiastic about the lives of through, I had known and done with three years others ?"

before. Time was when I left my heart behind “You are right,” she said—"you are right. me at every country-house I staid at; but it was If you can see nothing in this life worth winning sure to come after me in a day or two, like a for yourself, and nothing in this life that it would sponge-bag or a washing-bill; and, foolish girl make you miserable to miss, your labors for though I was, I never really thought that trifling others will be but the dull round of a treadmill. to be love. Myself, I have never loved. But I Our own inner lives and loves must be the light know that I know what the passion is, because I of our world for each of us; and if the light, my am so sure I have never felt it: and so sure also friend, that is in us be darkness, oh, how great is that you have not. Why, at the very time you that darkness ! But I do not yet despair of you. speak of, were not you loitering here with me, Some day or other, you will learn to love, and finding pleasure in my society, and hanging over then the whole aspect of things will change for every word I uttered ?” you. The old sense of life's worth and solemnity And why should I not?” said Marsham. will come back again; you will again be eager, “You were a woman of taste and intellect. You again an enthusiast, and again, perhaps, a poet." had thought, and read, and discriminated, and I

a "I have told you,” said Marsham, “that I could discuss things freely with you that I could have known love already, but it had for me none with no one else. What, according to your view of that magic power that you give it credit of the matter, are the contents of a true lover's for."

vows ? When he says to a woman, 'I love you,' “Tell me,” said Lady Di tremulously, “when does that mean also, “You understand all my was that ? Was it before you knew me, or was thoughts?' or does it else mean, ‘I will never it afterward? You said you were more full of harbor or utter a thought that you are incapable romance when I knew you first than perhaps I of understanding '? Why, it takes two or three suspected."

people to understand even the meanest person“ I was indeed," said Marsham, “ for, the very ality. And, because one woman had my genial time I was here, I knew the very feeling that sympathy, can this show you that another had you say would save me, but which in reality has not my love?" done so very little. I was in love-in love as “ Heavens !” she said impetuously, “do you deeply, as madly, as ever you could recommend know so little as to think that were a man in love me to be."

really he could endure to be absent, without neShe looked at him with a bewildered expres- cessity, a day from the woman he was in love sion. “But why,” she said, after a pause, “ did with ? No: he is never happy when away from you tell me nothing of this ? Did I not deserve her. All amusements, unless she shares them, your confidence? Were you afraid to be quite are vapid ; and to give to another one of the in

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ner thoughts of his heart would, he feels, be sac- can have fruit without having a tree to bear it. rilege. They are all sacred to her; they are all You are confounding two things. Love is either precious for her sake. They are flowers in the a sacrament or a self-indulgence. If it be the garden of his soul which he plucks lovingly, one former, the very essence of it is that it points to by one, for her, and for her only, and which he something beyond itself; and its power, in that labors to keep sweet and taintless, that she may case, must die if our belief in that something lay them in her own bosom."

If it be the latter, it is a feeling only—" “If that is love,” said Marsham, “I have not A feeling only!” she exclaimed ; “yes, inonly never known it, but I hope I never may deed, it is a feeling only, but a feeling so rapturknow it. The woman I loved could not read ous and so sacred that it needs nothing beyond Greek plays: you could. And will you say I was itself, except our thanks to the God who gave it not in love, because I was not prepared to re- -God the giver, who at such times willingly nounce for ever all sympathy in so refined and so stands aside, that his children may enjoy togethharmless a taste as the Athenian drama ?” er this precious and most perfect gift."

“ This is not a matter," she exclaimed, “ for “Surely,” said Marsham, “ this is a strange reason and logic. The kingdom of love does view for you, a Catholic. You profess a faith not come with observation. Your heart, not which teaches you that the one thing really worth your head, must reveal it to you. But if you our living for is the love, not of woman, but of have no heart, as you are doing your best to con- God; and, though human love is indeed recogvince me, then God help you! Why, love in the nized, and blest by it, yet for those who would inner world is what the sun is in the outer; and, be perfect it points out a more excellent way." if your inner world is a sunless one, I could no “We can not all be saints,” she said ; "it more show you that life was a precious thing was not meant we should be. But it is the same than I could show you that the sea was blue at intense and fervent nature that is common both midnight."

to the lover and the saint: nor was there ever a “Reason,” said Marsham, can not kindle great saint, who, had he but just fallen short of love; but reason assuredly can quench it.” sanctity, would not have been a great lover in“ Nonsense!" she cried contemptuously.

stead.”

"I think St. Paul,” said Marsham, “would What man can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?'”

smile if you told him that; so, too, would St.

Augustine ; and they, both of them, I believe, “You can not by reason,” he said, “cure love are high authorities with you." as a caprice; but the love which is a caprice “ They are,” she said ; " but they lived in only is not the love you speak of. And love as different times from ours, and we never can judge an absorbing and life-long devotion, which takes them by our own standards. Catholic though I into itself a man's whole ambitions and emotions am, I believe as firmly as any freethinker that —love like this, reason assuredly can quench- an increasing purpose runs through the ages, and for those at least who have no faith to sustain that, with the process of the suns, the thoughts them. Such love, you say, is the sun of the in- of men widen. Love as we know it—as it has ner world. You are mistaken. It is not the sun, pleased God we should know it-was not known it is the moon. The moon is human affection, in the days either of St. Paul or of St. Augustine. but the sun is divine faith. You, who are a Cath- It has been a growing revelation made to the olic, forget all this; for you know nothing of the modern world; and to me, who believe in God, loss from which others are suffering. But, to it seems a strange instance of his providence, offer love to those who have lost religion, is to tell that just at these present days, when men are the poor to eat jam-tarts, when they cry to you denying the supernatural, he should have made that they have got no bread.”

it up to them by disclosing to them how divine “I forget nothing,” she said angrily. “I am is the natural.” a Catholic, it is true, and I trust I value my re- "You might as well say,” he replied, “ that ligion properly. But religion has nothing to do he made up to them by the moon for the comwith the present question. You are beginning plete extinction of the sun.” the matter at the wrong end. If you want to be “Not the extinction," she said, “but the witha religious man, you must first be a man; and drawal merely. Surely the moon shines for us, you are not a man if you do not know how to whether we believe the sun exists or no." love. How will you love God whom you have “ Yes," he said, “but the inner universe is not seen, if you do not love your brother whom not like the outer. Over the outer we have no you have seen?”

power, but over the inner universe we have. This “That does but mean," he replied, “that if last is for each one of us, in part, our own creathe tree is healthy it will bear fruit; not that we tion; and just as it was the Spirit of God that

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brooded over the chaos of matter, and fashioned quite absorbed in my company, and hanging alout of it this fair order, so is it in each one of us most like a lover on every word I uttered. It is the spirit of faith in God that broods over the lucky, Mr. Marsham, that my affections were chaos of the affections and fashions out of them never set upon you. God save me from the inthe feelings which you call so When a sult of devotion such as yours, which is disman loves a woman as you think he ought to tracted from its professed object by even attraclove her, does he love her body only, or her soul tions so poor as mine, and which is equally false also ? Does he not look on her as a being who, and contemptible in either case." though she is bound to him, yet is bound also to "Surely, Lady Di," said Marsham, looking something above himself? Does he not feel into her eyes softly, “ you should not be hard on that the woman's soul, as Goethe says, leads him me for the collapse of any affection when it was upward and onward ?”

caused in a great measure by your own charms, “He does,” she interrupted; "and can you and by your own large sympathies. It was you understand all this so well, and yet not see what who helped to shatter my poor ideal by showing a pearl of price is in this life offered you ?" how much there was in womanhood that my

“ But what will happen,” he said, “suppose ideal did not comprehend; and, as I gradually we believe there is no Soul, that there is no grew to see this more clearly, I seemed like a Above, and that there is no Beyond? This it is man waking from a fevered dream. I seemed to that the modern world is believing. And the be finding myself and my sane judgment again, sensation in this case, that we are moving up- which I had so long lost.” ward, is of no more meaning or value than the He stopped. She took her eyes from his; feeling in a dream, that we are falling miles her head drooped, and she remained for a long downward, when in reality we are all the while while thoughtful. It is strange by what simple in uneasy rest upon our pillows. Again, I tell magic the world of a woman's heart is not selyou, you are confusing two things; you are con- dom governed-how a word will turn the whole fusing love the sacrament with love the self-in- sea of her thoughts from sweet to bitter, and dulgence. The latter will last its day without from bitter again to sweet! When Lady Di any religious faith, it is true ; just as the bread spoke once more, her manner was wholly changed. and wine of the Eucharist have taste and being She laid her hand upon Marsham's arm, and said for believers and unbelievers equally; but it de- sweetly and regretfully : “Forgive me; I have pends on your belief, and not on your natural been very hard on you. Your hour is not yet senses, whether

you think it worth while to make come, my friend; and that is all. But it will your heart clean to receive them.”

come soon, I feel a strange assurance; and it “Say no more,” she exclaimed impetuously, may come too, perhaps, when you are least exher voice at one moment almost breaking with pecting it.” some ambiguous feeling ; "you are talking about She rose, as she said this, with a slight shudwhat you know nothing of, and you are trying to der. “It is turning chilly,” she said. “Suppose hide your want of all natural affection under the we go in-doors. At sunset it is so much colder pretense of a desire for an affection above the than at night." natural. You have never known love. You are In-doors Marsham was half annoyed and too mean and shallow-hearted to be capable of half relieved to discover that an old maiden lady it."

in spectacles, once Lady Di's governess, and now “ Just now," he replied, “I believe that I be- her companion, had meanwhile made her appearlied myself, or rather I did not care entirely to ance from the upper regions, and was to give confess myself. Lady Di, I have known the feel- dullness and propriety to what else would have ing you speak of in all its glad and in all its sad been a tête-d-tête dinner. She at any rate preintensity. For days I have gone almost fasting, vented a renewal of the delicate and embarrassand for nights almost sleepless, for the love of ing discussions that had occupied the afternoon; one woman. Her being seemed to have entered and for this both of those who had taken part in into mine-her thoughts into my thoughts. She them were not ungrateful. Lady Di's indignawas a viewless presence for me in the flowers, in tion and anger seemed quite laid at rest; and the windy mountains, and in the moonlight as it she conversed with a brightness and an eagerlay floating on the midnight ripples. When the ness which, when she appealed to Marsham, very veins in my temples throbbed, and I felt seemed to carry a subtile caress with it. After their pulses, it seemed to be her blood that was dinner the moon had risen. The night was mild beating in them."

and splendid. “I will come out with you," said “And yet,” exclaimed Lady Di bitterly, “all Lady Di, “and we will watch for your friends the time you felt this for another woman, you from Monaco. Before long we may expect their could loiter here with me—to all appearance boat at the landing-stage.”

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They stood together, leaning on a pale balus- again suffer from. Love to me was a hot atmostrade, with the glittering sea below, and the phere; it made my life like a fevered dream; it fronds of a tall palm feathering dark above them. distorted everything out of its true proportions. Lady Di, as Marsham felt sure she would, re- It lured me to think a woman perfect who my turned almost instantly to the old topic.

judgment told me was not perfect. It was a “My brother,” she said, “ if I may still call physical, an intellectual, and an emotional tether you by the old name, my old interest in you has to me.” never waned ; and it was because that interest “Mr. Marsham !” she exclaimed, in a voice was so genuine that I just now spoke so harshly. almost inaudible. She pressed her hand to her Do not be angry with me because I was shocked forehead, and felt the few lines which she knew at the state you had sunk to. I was shocked were written on it deepened by a sudden pain. only at it, because it was so unworthy of yourself She moved a pace or two away, and murmured -you who are by nature so faithful and so gen- to herself in a broken whisper : erous, and (though you yourself may not know

“He loves not hollow cheek and faded eye! it) so passionately and so nobly affectionate.”

Yet, O my friend, and would you have me die?'" Unperceived by his companion, Marsham smiled slightly. She went on in hurried, earnest accents : Marsham could hear nothing of this; but he “Some day, it may be soon, the power of loving was utterly taken aback by the intensity of her that seems so lost to you will return, I know it feeling, though the exact nature of it never will; and then the life that you now despise will crossed his mind. become transfigured to you. Scales will fall • I could never have dreamed,” he said, “ that from your eyes, and you will see it in all its you took life thus seriously. To me you always solemn value. You will but .cross a step or seemed the embodiment of a light, delicate cynitwo of dubious twilight'; then a new glory will cism, half contemptuous and half regretful. You break on you, 'which never was on sea or land'; seemed to look at things with a mixture of irony and you will stand amazed and in reverent rap- and tenderness which to me was peculiarly piture at the changed landscape-at

quant and attractive, but which I could never have ".... the novel

believed compatible with such earnestness as you

show now. How could I think that a woman Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of.'

who would countenance Mrs. Crane, who could Bear with me a moment longer. You say you lightly discuss a scandal either with or about have lost faith. My friend, I can sympathize Lord Surbiton, who could move among the most with you there: I, too, at times, have wellnigh doubtful topics with the delicate ease that only lost mine. But, as my hope in another life grew comes of familiarity-how could I think that such fainter, my belief in this one grew only the more a woman was in reality the solemn believer in passionate. I am now speaking to you not as a the most severe and intense form of all human Catholic. Forget that I am one. My religion affection ?” has nothing to do with the truth that I am trying “Are you so poor an observer of human nato teach you. I am speaking to you but as a ture as that?” she answered. “I am not of the woman simply, with a woman's natural affections, world, but I still am in it; and I know it too well and a woman's natural insight. I am showing to be surprised at its ways. But I estimate its you how you can know what life is; and how men and women at their true worth; and, for you only despise it now from rejecting the one this reason, I can hardly restrain my tears at the thing in it that is of value.”

thought that you are rapidly becoming one of And can all love in this way?" said Mar- them.” sham.

" And so you think that from them,” said “All,” said Lady Di. “God be thanked, even Marsham, “the true value of life is hidden ? " the meanest of his creatures."

Hidden!” she echoed, with her head avert“But do you think," said Marsham,“ that they ed. “They do not even dream of its existence! would so love even if they could ? My sister, if Lord Surbiton is a man of genius, and he once, I may give you the counterpart of the kind name doubtless, had the eye to see. But he conseyou give me, I am one—and I say this in all seri- crated what might have been his affections to his ousness—who would not so love even if he could. own dissolute self-indulgence, and what still is And it is you—your own charming self—who his genius, to his own contemptible vanity. Did have taught me to feel this, and have neutralized you hear him mouthing out at breakfast that your own gospel. The fascination that your every savage can love'?—as if, when a man did company had for me those years ago was its truly love, he were not at once, in the deepest calm and its coolness—the utter absence from it sense, civilized, no matter how lowly his lot, or of that very feeling which you would have me how seemingly poor his education."

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