hands herself over to a man she detests for lust of gold—the basest, most ignoble greed man or woman ever stained his or her soul with?
Bed-time comes. "Good night! good night!" At last I am in my chamber; the door is locked, and I am alone. I open my window wide, and the soft, moist air creeps in with the faint earthy smell that ever wanders abroad in early spring, whispering that nature's forces are stirring at their sources, and preparing new and beautiful treasures for our eyes' delight.
There is no moon, and the darkness enfolds me in its softness, and seems to hide me away—body and soul, unborn thought and conscious feeling, anxious fear and trembling joy. Joy! What have I to do with it this night? As though it were a demon, I must send from me the heavenly visitor that has stayed so long away from me, lest my soul perish.
Is it a sin that my eyes beholding him to-day have been blessed indeed? Is it a crime that my body is one ache to feel the merest friendliest touch of his hand, my ears one eager hearkening for the sound of his voice?
And this is my strength, this my composure, that I had built up so slowly and painfully, to melt away like snow before the sun at a mere glimpse of his unconscious face. Is it as another woman's husband that I think of him, or as my lost lover, who cleaves to me through time and space, and who is mine as I am his? Less of fear than delight moves me, I wis, at knowing he is close to me, that I have seen him, a living, breathing man, instead of a grey shadow in spirit land, divided from me by a river my feet shall never cross. . . . .
My mind contemplates the misery and bitter circumstances of the situation—the sight of my enemy filling my place, usurping my rights. My heart sweeps all paltry, trivial considerations aside; and looking the truth fairly in the face, sees and recognises,
