e exaltation of all
emotions which follows when we become absorbed in the nature of this
one and all, he calls 'intellectual love.' It's neither a jest nor a
blasphemy, but the simple words of truth when I say that with such a
love I love you, Leah! That blind, demoniacal passion, which is usually
called love, has been washed out of my blood--I trust forever! What now
lives in me is the happy consciousness that you're the best, purest,
noblest creature that ever appeared on earth, the one being in whom my
world is contained, and that the man whom you should love and to whom
you consented to belong, would be the happiest of mortals!"

As he faltered the last words he knelt beside her couch, and taking her
hands held them clasped in his, fixing his eyes upon her cool, slender
fingers, unable to look her in the face. He remained for a long time
absorbed in a blissful stupor; it was such a relief to have told her
all, that he felt he scarcely feared her answer, although he was far
from being sure of a favorable one.

She still remained silent. At last he grew anxious, looked at her, and
instantly started up in alarm, for he could not doubt that she had
fainted. He hastily seized a little bottle containing some powerful
stimulant which he found on her table, and poured some on his
handkerchief to rub her temples and restore the color to her pale lips.
"Leah!" he exclaimed, "come to yourself again! Oh! do not punish me so
fearfully for my thoughtlessness; oh, how could I, when I found you so
ill--"

Her lips moved and she slowly opened her eyes. "Forgive me for alarming
you, my beloved!" she murmured. "The happiness was too great--too
sudden. But--I'm well again--I live--aye, I will live, now that I know,
through you and for you--Edwin, is it possible!"

She raised her arm and timidly put it around his neck. He bent toward
her face, now again glowing with blushes. "My wife!" he whispered. "You
are mine! mine! mine! And so surely as I hope to be happy through
you--" His lips, which met hers, stifled and sealed the vow of eternal
love and constancy.

CHAPTER X.

The same day, toward dusk, the little artist was seen hurrying along
the street in which Frau Valentin lived. Any one who had seen him in
his studio that morning, would scarcely have taken him for the same
man. Although the March winds could not seem exactly Springlike to
elderly gentlemen, he had stolen lightly out of the h