ends of years rather than acquaintances of an
hour.

"Heraine was the impersonation of composure. The neutral tint of dress
corresponded with the smooth tresses of her brown hair. Her touch was
magnetic, and petulancy vanished at her smile as at a charm. Her
intelligence was, doubtless, the secret of her power. She divined my
moods without inquiry, and cheered them without effort. She led me out
of the unhealthy atmosphere engendered by my sensitiveness, and I
sometimes forgot my disability for hours. She was as good as she was
capable, and as amiable as she was resolute. We fraternized
immediately, and I felt all the newness of a regenerated life. My
temperament was fitful as of yore, but the gloomy spectres vanished;
and my attention being weaned from the slighter occurrences of
nature, I was no longer racked by their tremors and jars. The soft
face of Heraine seemed to hush all chaos, and when she smiled I
thought that the very earth had ceased to roll. When her large liquid
eyes were fully opened upon me, I seemed to be looking into the hungry
blue of the sky, and carried aloft by the look beyond the influence of
matter. For the moment my nerves grew numb, the compass of my senses
narrowed to her wondrous face, and the fetters which bound me to it
were forged of gold.

"The months went by like the stars, which wheel eternally, but seem
motionless as we watch them. Sometimes we read aloud, but our voices
were low and lulling, as if quieter than silence. Then we talked of my
calm paintings, shadowing deeper lonelinesses in them. But it was my
highest rapture to sit in stillness for hours while Heraine, cushioned
at my feet, made cunning embroideries, like some facile poet whose
fingers were dropping rhymes.

"I remarked that our conversations were progressive. My companion led
me gradually into forbidden themes, as if to strengthen and embolden
me. We went forth, in fancy, from our shadowy chamber, through deep
groves, into twilights, beneath soft skies, even into the glare of the
sun, and, at last, among the storms and the seas. I may have quivered,
but I was not shocked; for the wrack and roar of the universe were
drowned in the quietness of her voice. Then we walked abroad a little
way, and, though pained, I endured; for she did not abuse these
successes. She had travelled in far countries, and often read me
friendly letters which attested how well the world esteemed her.
Sometimes her acquaintances came to the