preme felicity were our places to be changed."

"To go whither? Hast thou bethought thee of this, my beloved?"

Raoul answered not for some time. His eyes were fastened on a bright
star, and a tumult of thoughts began to crowd upon his brain. There are
moments in the life of every man when the mental vision obtains clearer
views of remote conclusions, equally in connection with the past and the
future, as there are days when an atmosphere purer than common more
readily gives up its objects to the physical organs--leaving the mind
momentarily the master, almost without control. One of these gleams of
truth passed over the faculties of the dying man, and it could not be
altogether without its fruits. Raoul's soul was agitated by novel
sensations.

"Do thy priests fancy that they who have known and loved each other in
this life," he asked, "will know and love each other in that which they
fancy is to come?"

"The life that is to come, Raoul, is one all love, or one all hatred.
That we may know each other I try to hope; nor do I see any reason for
disbelieving it. My uncle is of opinion it must be so."

"Thy uncle, Ghita? What, Carlo Giuntotardi--he who seemeth never to
think of things around him--doth a mind like his dwell on thoughts as
remote and sublime as this?"

"Little dost thou know or understand him, Raoul. His mind seldom ceases
to dwell on thoughts like these; this is the reason why earth, and all
it contains, seem so indifferent."

Raoul made no answer, but appearing to suffer under the pain of his
wound, the feelings of woman so far prevailed over Ghita's tender nature
that she had not the heart to press even his salvation on him at such a
moment. She offered him soothing drinks, and nursed him with unabated
care; and when there seemed to be a cessation to his sufferings, she
again passed minutes on her knees, her whole soul absorbed in his future
welfare. An hour passed in this manner, all on or near the rock
sleeping, overcome by fatigue, but Ghita and the dying man.

"That star haunts me, Ghita!" Raoul at length muttered, "If it be really
a world, some all-powerful hand must have created it. Chance never made
a world, more than chance made a ship. Thought--mind--intelligence must
have governed at the formation of one as well as of the other."

For months Ghita had not known an instant as happy as that. It appeared
as if the mind of Raoul were about to extricate itself from the shallow
philosophy so