e could
not bend his noble, regal nature to the level of mine, and towers
beyond me, a pinnacle of unapproachable purity and perfection. Ah,
indeed, he is one of those concerning whom it has been grandly said:
'_The truly great stand upright as columns of the temple whose dome
covers all,--against whose pillared sides multitudes lean, at whose
base they kneel in times of trouble._' Mr. Minge, it is despair that
crouches at my heart, not hope that shuts its portals against your
earnest petition; for a barrier wider, deeper than a hundred oceans
divides me from my idol, who loves, and ere this, is the husband of
another."

She did not observe the glow that once more mantled his cheek, and
fired his eyes, until he exclaimed with unusual fervor,--

"Thank God! That fact is freighted with priceless comfort."

Compassion and contempt seemed struggling for mastery, as she waved
him from her, and answered, impatiently,--

"Think you that any other need hope to usurp my monarch's place,--that
one inferior dare expect to wield his sceptre over my heart? Pardon
me,--

'If there were not an eagle in the realm of birds,
Must then the owl be king among the feathered herds?'

Some day a gentler spirit than mine will fill your home with music,
and your heart with peace and sunshine; and, in that hour, thank
honest Salome Owen for the blessings you owe to her candor. I must bid
you good-night."

She drew the scarf closer about her head and throat, and turned to
leave the terrace.

"Will you not allow me to drive you to-morrow afternoon on the Marino?
Do not refuse me this innocent and inexpressibly valued privilege. I
will not be denied! Good-night, my--Heaven shield you, my worshipped
one! Hush!--I will hear no refusal."

He stooped, kissed the folds of the scarf that covered her head, and
hurried down the steps of the terrace.

The glory of a Sicilian sunset bathed the face and figure that stood a
moment under the lemon-boughs, watching the retreating form which soon
disappeared behind clustering pomegranate, olive, and palm; and a
tender compassion looked out of the large hazel eyes, and sat on the
sad lips that murmured,--

"God help you, Merton Minge, to strangle the viper that coils in your
heart, and gnaws its core. My own is a serpent's lair, and I pity the
pangs that rend yours also. But after a little while, your viper will
find a file,--mine, alas! not until death arrests the slow torture.
To-morrow aftern