d bound him to
circumstances which appeared to him strange and improbable, as though he
read them in a book. His wearied mind contemplated his own fate as
though it were that of a stranger, and he could now calmly look down
into the depths of his own spirit, which the stormy alternations of the
day had hitherto hid from him. He saw his former life pass in review
before him: the figure of the noble lady on the balcony of her castle;
the beautiful girl in her skiff, surrounded by her swans; the waxlights
in the dancing-saloon; the mournful hour when the baroness had placed
her jewels in his hands--each of those moments when Lenore's eyes had
lovingly met his own. All those seasons now returned to his mind, and he
plainly discerned the glamour that she had cast around him. All that had
chained his fancy, warped his judgment, and flattered his self-love, now
appeared to him an illusion.

It had been an error of his childish spirit which vanity had fostered.
Alas! the brilliant mirage had long been dissipated in which the life of
the aristocratic family seemed great, noble, enviable to the poor
accountant's son. Another feeling had replaced it, and a purer--a tender
friendship for the only one in that circle who had retained her strength
when the others sank. Now, she too parted from him. He felt this was,
and must be so more and more. He felt this now without pain, as natural,
as inevitable. And further, he felt that he was thus free from the ties
that detained him here. He raised his head, and looked over the woods
into the distance. He blamed himself, first, that this loss did not
grieve him more, and, next, that he was conscious of a loss. Had there,
then, been a silent hope at the bottom of his heart? Had he thought to
win the beauteous girl to share his future life? had he dreamed of
becoming a member of the family by whom he was employed? If he had
occasionally been weak enough to do this, he now condemned himself.

He had not always felt rightly; he had secretly cherished many a selfish
thought when looking at Lenore. That had been wrong, and it served him
right that he now stood alone among strangers, in relations that pained
him because they were indefinite, and in a position from which his own
resolve could not free him at present, could hardly free him for some
time to come.

And yet he felt himself free. "I shall do my duty, and only think of her
happiness," said he, aloud. But her happiness? He thought of
Fi