vocation
she had abandoned. My reflections took a very different form, and turned
entirely upon the dangers of the career she had adopted,--perils which,
from what I could collect of her character, were extremely likely to
assail her. She was young, beautiful, gifted, and ambitious; and, above
all, she was friendless. What temptations would not assail her,--by what
flatteries would she not be beset! Would she be endowed with strength
to resist these? Would the dignity of her ancient descent guard her, or
would the enthusiasm for her art protect her? These were questions that
I could not solve, or, rather, I solved them in many and different ways.
For a long time had she occupied a great share in my heart; sometimes
I felt towards her as towards a sister. I thought of the hours we had
passed side by side over our books,--now working hard and eagerly, now
silent and thoughtful, as some train of ideas would wile us away from
study, and leave us forgetful of even each other,--till a chance word,
a gesture, a sigh, would recall us, and then, interchanging our
confessions,--for such they were,--we turned to our books again. But at
other times I thought of her as one dearer still than this,--as of
one to win whose praise I would adventure anything; whose chance words
lingered in my memory, suggestive of many a hope, and, alas! many a
fear. It is no graceful reflection to dwell upon, however truthful, that
our first loves are the emanations of our self-esteem. They who first
teach us to be heroes to our own hearts are our earliest idols. Ay, and
with all the changes and chances of life, they have their altars within
us to our latest years. Why should it not be so? What limit ought there
to be to our gratitude to those who first suggested noble ambitions,
high-soaring thoughts, and hopes of a glorious future,--who instilled in
us our first pride of manhood, and made us seem worthy of being loved!

Margot had done all this for me when but a child, and now she was a
woman, beautiful and gifted! The fame of her genius was world-wide. Did
she still remember me?--had she ever a thought for the long past hours
when we walked hand-in-hand together, or sat silently in some summer
arbor? I recalled all that she had ever said to me, in consolation of
the past, or with hope for the future. I pondered over little incidents,
meaningless at the time, but now full of their own strong significance;
and I felt at last assured that, when she had s