or speedy death."

"If you prayed at all, existence would not prove so wearisome; for
resignation would cure half your woes."

"Confine your prescriptions to the body,--that is tangible, and may be
handled and scrutinized; but venture no nostrums for a heart and soul
of which you know nothing. Once I was almost a Moslem in the frequency
and fervor of my prayers; but now, the only petition I could force
myself to offer would be that prayer of Epictetus, '_Lead me, Zeus and
Destiny, whithersoever I am appointed to go; I will follow without
wavering; even though I turn coward and shrink, I shall have to
follow, all the same._'"

Dr. Grey sighed heavily, and answered,--

"It is painful to hear from feminine lips a fatalism so grim as to
make all prayer a mockery; and it would seem that the loss of those
dear to you, would have insensibly and unavoidably drawn your heart
heavenward, in search of its transplanted idols."

He knew from the sudden spasm that seized her calm features, and
shuddered through her tall figure, that he had touched, perhaps too
rudely, some chord in her nature which--

"Made the coiled memory numb and cold,
That slept in her heart like a dreaming snake,
Drowsily lift itself, fold by fold,
And gnaw, and gnaw hungrily, half-awake."

"Ah, indeed, my heart was drawn after them,--but not heavenward! No, no,
no! My idols were not transplanted,--they were shattered!--shattered!"

She leaned forward, looking up into his face; and, raising her hand
impressively, she continued in a voice so mournful, so hopelessly
bitter, that Dr. Grey shivered as he listened.

"Oh, sir, you who stand gazing down in sorrowful reproach upon what
you regard as my unpardonable impiety, little dream of the fiery
ordeal that consumed my childlike, beautiful faith, as flames crisp
and blacken chaff. I am alone, and must ever be, while in the flesh;
and I hoard my pain, sparing the world my moans and tears, my wry
faces and desperate struggles. I tell you, Dr. Grey,--

'None know the choice I made; I make it still.
None know the choice I made, and broke my heart,
Breaking mine idol; I have braced my will
Once, chosen for once my part.
I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold,
Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live.
My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old,
Grows old in which I grieve.'"

He did not comprehend her, but felt that her past must have been
melancholy indeed, of