it
she wished to transfer, animated the heart of Mrs. Elder.

As the mother and her gentle child went back, through the deepening
twilight, to their home of luxury and taste, both were, for much of
the way, silent; the former musing on what she had seen and heard,
and, like the wise bee, seeking to gather whatever honey could be
found: the latter, happy-hearted, from causes the reader has seen.

CHAPTER III.

"WALKING here yet, Edward?" said Mrs. Markland, as she joined her
husband in the spacious portico, after her return from the sick
woman's cottage; and drawing her arm within his, she moved along by
his side. He did not respond to her remark, and she continued:--

"Italy never saw a sunset sky more brilliant. Painter never threw on
canvas colours so full of a living beauty. Deep purple and lucent
azure,--crimson and burnished gold! And that far-off island-cloud--

'A Delos in the airy ocean--'

seems it not a floating elysium for happy souls?"

"All lovely as Nature herself," answered Mr. Markland, abstractedly,
as his eyes sought the western horizon, and for the first time since
the sun went down, he noticed the golden glories of the occident.

"Ah! Edward! Edward!" said Mrs. Markland, chidingly, "You are not
only in the world, but of the world."

"Of the earth, earthy, did you mean to say, my gentle monitor?"
returned the husband, leaning towards his wife.

"Oh, no, no! I did not mean grovelling or sordid; and you know I did
not." She spoke quickly and with mock resentment.

"Am I very worldly-minded?"

"I did not use the term."

"You said I was not only in the world, but of it."

"Well, and so you are; at least in a degree. It is the habit of the
world to close its eyes to the real it possesses, and aspire after
an ideal good."

"And do you find that defect in me, Agnes?"

"Where was thought just now, that your eyes were not able to bring
intelligence to your mind of this glorious sunset?"

"Thought would soon become a jaded beast of burden, Agnes, if always
full laden with the present, and the actually existent. Happily,
like Pegasus, it has broad and strong pinions--can rise free from
the prisoner's cell and the rich man's dainty palace. Free! free!
How the heart swells, elated and with a sense of power, at this
noble word--Freedom! It has a trumpet-tone."

"Softly, softly, my good husband," said Mrs. Markland. "This is all
enthusiasm."

"And but for enthusiasm, where would th