e who rejoice, never
weep with those who weep? Does the sun shine as brightly on
the forest glades of Hillscombe as when I wandered through
them with Edward? Does the stream dash through them with the
same reckless joy as when he helped me over its mossy stones?
Is the thyme as sweet, is the heather as purple, as when by
his side I scrambled over its wild moors? And thyself, Edward,
thyself--art thou as strong, as beautiful, as stern as ever?
Hast thou driven me from thy side, and when the first anguish
of that hour was gone by, hast thou said, "The bitterness of
death is past," and raised again thy stately head in its
beauty and its pride?

Is joy more sacred than grief, or is it so strange to the
human heart that, when present, we dare not scan its fleeting
form, nor recall its image when it is past. One short dream of
bliss was mine; it stands alone in a life, which, though not
long in years, has been long in sorrow. Once the cup has been
raised to my lips; one draught I took of that for which my
soul longs with a burning and quenchless thirst. Happiness!
yes, happiness; one hour of which reveals to us what an
eternity of bliss can be; for time and space, beginning and
end, are as though they were not, in that intense life of the
soul.

For seven days the sun rose in cloudless majesty; for seven
days he sunk to rest "in one unclouded blaze of living light."
Sunshine streamed on the grassy hills; it gilded the fields of
ripening corn; it pierced into the depths of the forest; it
bathed the world in light, and gladdened the heart of man. And
I too, for a while, was glad; in the fierce fever which for
some hours had robbed me of my senses, the anguish of my soul
seemed to have passed away. Nothing was changed in my fate,
but I felt weak, and there is something in weakness which
resembles peace; and in the love which we give to man, when it
is entire and undivided, there is a power which is strong for
good or for evil, as the hand of the master wields it.

We were alone; no familiar faces--no accustomed objects
reminded me of myself--of that self which had so straggled, so
sinned, and so suffered. I gazed on the beautiful works of
God; I raised my eyes from the green sward on which we trod,
to the soft blue sky, and my soul was melted within me. I
listened to Edward's words, and in that blessed solitude
nothing disturbed the silent echo which his voice of music
left upon my ear. As I closed my eyes in sleep, I bl