wishes had centered, her then widowed heart reposed itself upon the present, seldom straying beyond the tranquil boundary of its home,—there to cherish the memory of Philimore, recall him to her fancy, dwell upon his accents, and trace the even serenity of his countenance; catch, as she was wont to do, those pure beams of affection emanating from his eyes;—and during the still hour of night, when sleep had closed her outward sense, and the busy active intelligences within were alone open—could it then be mere imagination, could it then be the mere ideal vision of fancy?—or was it that her soul, transported into those eternal abodes in which he dwelt, presented a real existing being to her view, the perfect symmetry of the human form resplendent with beauty? for then no longer did he appear, as during her waking moments, the resemblance but of a fleeting shadow!
Rising from her couch, and reflecting upon her dreams in such moments, a powerful conviction would steal upon her mind, that the reciprocity of affection she had enjoyed with Philimore would be renewed and perpetuated for ever in eternity.
