are pure and lovely,
ah! he liveth alone with his glorious images, and from his brilliant
world of dream and vision, he walks abroad uncomprehended, a solitary
being. Yet he, too, has his reward, though seldom the present one of
popular approval; time is requisite for the appreciation of his
imaginings; he would not, if he could, profane them by the breath of
popular criticism. _His_ place is far away from common sight--a
dwelling in pleasant thoughts; he is enthroned amid happy memories and
early hopes; he is associated in our minds with forms of grace, and
faces of beauty--with the light of stars, and the fragrance of
flowers; with the pale hours of gloom his enchantments have chased
away, and the green graves his heavenward words have hallowed. Which
fame would I choose? Alas! for my craving nature, neither--but both!"

Two years had glided by, and Theresa had returned to us. Her studies
were completed, and she seemed to our fond hearts more than we ever
hoped for, or dared to anticipate. She had certainly improved to the
utmost the period of her absence; she was an admirable linguist, a
good musician, and her talent for painting was pronounced by
_connoisseurs_ to be extraordinary. She possessed in a rare degree
perfect consciousness of her powers, without a tinge of vanity; and
she spoke of her acquirements and performances simply and candidly, as
she would have dwelt on those of a stranger. Gerald was evidently
surprised at her mental progress, and perhaps he felt it almost
painfully, for he certainly was not in her presence as natural and
familiar as of yore. He would gaze on her long and fixedly, as if in
being forced to admire, he hesitated how to love. I do not know
whether Theresa perceived this change, and allowed it to influence her
manner, or whether the natural timidity of one "on the eve of
womanhood," rendered her also gentler and quieter than of old, but
certain it is, that while to others they were the same as ever, for
each other, they felt something they knew was not friendship, yet
dared not think was love.

In the meantime Amy had grown into girlhood, and was, in truth, as
beautiful as a poet's dream. She was timid, gentle, and silent; no
strength of mind was enshrined in that faultless casket; and her
transparent, maidenly brow, was never shadowed by the conflict of
thought. Her words were few and commonplace, but they were spoken by a
voice exquisitely musical, and her surpassing personal lov