er,' he continued in a reflective, dreamy tone; 'that I have been
under a spell--have been made the slave of certain outward fascinations,
which have fettered my judgment. Can it be that one will think he loves
and yet does not?'

'It is indeed hard to answer, I suppose.'

'It must be hard; for wherein, after all, is the difference between
being and thinking to be? But yet it seems as though there were times,
even long past and before this captivity, when, being in our own land,
and with nothing to disturb us or make us doubtful of the future, I
looked upon her with a strange kind of fear--wondering whether, though I
loved her with so strong a passion, it might not rather be the passion
of an unlasting, unsatisfying slavery of thought, than of a calm,
lifelong trustfulness. And now it seems to me that if I ever had this
feeling--for I cannot certainly tell whether I ever had or only now
imagine it--it seems to me as though it were an inner instinct warning
me against evil; for day by day I see more clearly that there has been
some veil over my soul, hiding it from a clear perception of what was
suitable for it.'

'And you begin to dislike her?' inquired AEnone.

'Not so,' he said. 'Nor do I know whether I ought to do so, if I could.
I believe now that she does not, and perhaps never has loved me, but I
must forgive her for all that. She may have tried to do so, and for a
time have thought that she did, and the true blame may all the while
have rested with me alone. With her strong, unbending temperament,
fearless of correction, and jealous of all control, how, indeed, could
she long cling to one of such a tranquil and yielding nature as myself?
That she loved me not, proves not that she could love no one; and though
she now seems so coldly heartless and so rashly heedless of her fame,
yet who knows what she might have been if fettered by the love of a
spirit more imperious than her own? Who can tell how the great good that
is within her might then have conquered the evil, and her soul have
spurned its present headstrong course, and gloriously aroused itself to
its sole great duty of love and innocent trustfulness?'

'These, indeed, are very far from being words of dislike,' said AEnone;
'and they only prove that you still love her, or you would not so
readily excuse her.'

'Neither have I denied that I love her yet,' he said. 'But it is not
with as blind an affection as before. Her touch, her words, her
smile--if