infant, "seems already so lifeless, that in the tomb itself one
could scarcely less heed the crimes that are done without."

Glyndon paused for a few moments, and gazed with strange and mingled
feelings upon that face and form, still so young, and yet so invested
with that saddest of all repose,--when the heart feels old.

"O Viola," said he, at last, and in a voice of suppressed passion, "was
it thus I ever thought to see you,--ever thought to feel for you, when
we two first met in the gay haunts of Naples? Ah, why then did you
refuse my love; or why was mine not worthy of you? Nay, shrink not!--let
me touch your hand. No passion so sweet as that youthful love can return
to me again. I feel for you but as a brother for some younger and lonely
sister. With you, in your presence, sad though it be, I seem to breathe
back the purer air of my early life. Here alone, except in scenes of
turbulence and tempest, the Phantom ceases to pursue me. I forget even
the Death that stalks behind, and haunts me as my shadow. But better
days may be in store for us yet. Viola, I at last begin dimly to
perceive how to baffle and subdue the Phantom that has cursed my
life,--it is to brave, and defy it. In sin and in riot, as I have told
thee, it haunts me not. But I comprehend now what Mejnour said in his
dark apothegms, 'that I should dread the spectre most WHEN UNSEEN.' In
virtuous and calm resolution it appears,--ay, I behold it now; there,
there, with its livid eyes!"--and the drops fell from his brow. "But
it shall no longer daunt me from that resolution. I face it, and it
gradually darkens back into the shade." He paused, and his eyes dwelt
with a terrible exultation upon the sunlit space; then, with a heavy and
deep-drawn breath, he resumed, "Viola, I have found the means of escape.
We will leave this city. In some other land we will endeavour to comfort
each other, and forget the past."

"No," said Viola, calmly; "I have no further wish to stir, till I am
born hence to the last resting-place. I dreamed of him last night,
Clarence!--dreamed of him for the first time since we parted; and,
do not mock me, methought that he forgave the deserter, and called me
'Wife.' That dream hallows the room. Perhaps it will visit me again
before I die."

"Talk not of him,--of the demi-fiend!" cried Glyndon, fiercely, and
stamping his foot. "Thank the Heavens for any fate that hath rescued
thee from him!"

"Hush!" said Viola, gravely. And as sh