having reached the entrance to the park of Charlottenburg they
alighted from the carriage. Silence surrounded them; the atmosphere was
balmy, and the earth bathed in sunshine; not a leaf was stirring, and
scarce a bubble rose to the surface of the carp pond as a frog leaped
croaking from the hot grass into the water. There are hours when even
nature seems to be gazing at her reflection, conscious of her beauty,
as if in a dream.

The two, who walked arm in arm through the shaded avenue, felt the
magic of the midsummer noon in their own souls, which grew more and
more agitated, as if secret fountains were welling up within them
without overflowing at their lips. Thus silent, they at last reached
the mausoleum, which in the bright sunlight, looked specially grave and
solemn under the dark trees.

"I wanted to come here," said Edwin. "It was on this spot that she said
to me: 'There is but one real nobility: to be true to ourselves.' The
poor, brave, free-born heart--it has been true to its nobility,
faithful unto death. Let us enter the little temple, where beauty is
high priestess and conquers death by perpetuating the forms of noble
humanity. But we know that for that, marble is not necessary; for have
not we in our grief, engraved the transfigured image indefaceably upon
our hearts till we ourselves shall enter eternity?"

They passed into the silent chamber. When, after a considerable lapse
of time, they again emerged into the open air, the eyes of both were
dim with tears. They paused in the next deserted avenue, and as they
silently embraced each other, Leah gave free course to her grief.

"Weep your sorrow away, love," said Edwin at last. "Ought we to feel
ashamed of the best gift mother nature has bestowed upon us? With what
strange foresight she has arranged that the fountain of tears flows
whenever the greatest joys or the bitterest sorrows fall upon our
hearts! And is it not the same with all that is tragic in human
destiny? Are not the weal and woe of all lives inseparably interwoven
and blended in supreme moments into an emotion which lifts us above our
petty selves, and makes us smile at grief when we are too awed by its
solemnity to rejoice? Oh! dearest, a world in which we are permitted to
achieve such a triumph over fate, and not only over our own fate but
over that of our loved ones also, in which the tragic element is
glorified by a sense of beauty, and in the midst of our horror of death
we are thr