d he took up a volume of
Metastasio's plays which was lying on the table), which
makeup, in my opinion, for all the sentimental non-sense it
contains." He pointed to these lines:

"La gloria nostra
E geloso cristallo, e debil canna
Ogni aura ch'inchina, ogni respiro ch'appanna."

"My feelings are, perhaps, exaggerated, but I own it fairly to
you. I can conceive that, as a woman's reputation might suffer
from trifles light as air, so a man's love might vanish from
what would appear but a slight cause for such an effect. You
were about to speak, Ellen, and you have checked the words
that were rising to your lips, but I read them in your eyes,
and I will answer them. It is not because my love is weak,
that a fault in you would seem to me as a crime in another. It
is because, to discover that you were not pure and good and
true, beyond any other woman in the world, would be so
dreadful to me, that I doubt if in that overthrow of all my
pride and my happiness, my love could survive. My pride, I
say, as well as my happiness, for I _am_ proud of you, my
beloved wife, when I look at your dark eyes--at your clear
brow--at your curling lip, and feel that no word has ever
passed those lips which an angel might not have uttered, nor
any eye has ever been raised to yours but with respect and
affection. They are glorious gifts, Ellen, precious treasures
which you possess--an innocent mind and a spotless reputation.
Beware how you accustom yourself to talk, for effect, of
remorse and self-reproach. They _are_ too dark and too bitter
things to be trifled with."

"True," I answered, "they are too dark and too bitter subjects
for us to discuss. You are right. Forgive me my folly. I shall
not fall again into the same error."

And back into the deepest recesses of a swelling heart were
thrust regrets, fears, hopes, which were thus commanded never
again to trouble the smooth surface of married life.
Henceforward I was ordered to stand like a painted sepulchre,
in all the outward form and show of virtue, nor ever dare to
utter in Edward's hearing that life was not always fair, its
memories sweet, and its prospects bright. The dream was over,
and its danger too, for in its happiness my soul had grown
weak; it had pouted forth its love, and in the rushing tide of
feeling the secret of its misery was escaping it. Now the
barrier was raised again--now the mental separation was begun;
for as we drove out of sight of Hillscomb