r it
slept now,--she threw herself on his breast, and pointed to the dawn
that began greyly to creep along the skies.

There, in those horror-breathing walls, the day-star looked through the
dismal bars upon those three beings, in whom were concentrated whatever
is most tender in human ties; whatever is most mysterious in the
combinations of the human mind; the sleeping Innocence; the trustful
Affection, that, contented with a touch, a breath, can foresee no
sorrow; the weary Science that, traversing all the secrets of creation,
comes at last to Death for their solution, and still clings, as it
nears the threshold, to the breast of Love. Thus, within, THE WITHIN,--a
dungeon; without, the WITHOUT,--stately with marts and halls, with
palaces and temples; Revenge and Terror, at their dark schemes and
counter-schemes; to and fro, upon the tide of the shifting passions,
reeled the destinies of men and nations; and hard at hand that day-star,
waning into space, looked with impartial eye on the church tower and
the guillotine. Up springs the blithesome morn. In yon gardens the
birds renew their familiar song. The fishes are sporting through the
freshening waters of the Seine. The gladness of divine nature, the
roar and dissonance of mortal life, awake again: the trader unbars his
windows; the flower-girls troop gayly to their haunts; busy feet are
tramping to the daily drudgeries that revolutions which strike down
kings and kaisars, leave the same Cain's heritage to the boor; the
wagons groan and reel to the mart; Tyranny, up betimes, holds its pallid
levee; Conspiracy, that hath not slept, hears the clock, and whispers to
its own heart, "The hour draws near." A group gather, eager-eyed, round
the purlieus of the Convention Hall; to-day decides the sovereignty of
France,--about the courts of the Tribunal their customary hum and stir.
No matter what the hazard of the die, or who the ruler, this day eighty
heads shall fall!

....

And she slept so sweetly. Wearied out with joy, secure in the presence
of the eyes regained, she had laughed and wept herself to sleep; and
still in that slumber there seemed a happy consciousness that the loved
was by,--the lost was found. For she smiled and murmured to herself, and
breathed his name often, and stretched out her arms, and sighed if
they touched him not. He gazed upon her as he stood apart,--with what
emotions it were vain to say. She would wake no more to him; she could
not know h