h, and with the resulting
increased knowledge comes the loss of all hope, with keener pangs than
I supposed could exist. Oh, that I had now their opportunities, that I
might write a thesis that should live forever, and save millions of
souls from the anguish of mine! Inoculate your mortal bodies with the
germs of faith and mutual love, in a stronger degree than they dwelt in
me, lest you lose the life above."

But no one heard him, and he preached in vain.

He again rushed forth, and, after a half-involuntary effort, found
himself in the street before his loved one's home. Scarcely knowing
why, except that it had become nature to wish to be near her, he stood
for a long time opposite her dwelling.

"O house!" he cried, "inanimate object that can yet enthral me so, I
stand before your cold front as a suppliant from a very distant realm;
yet in my sadness I am colder than your stones, more alone than in a
desolate place. She that dwells within you holds my love. I long for
her shadow or the sound of her step. I am more wretchedly in love than
ever--I, an impotent, invisible spirit. Must I bear this sorrow in
addition to my others, in my fruitless search for rest? My life will
be a waking nightmare, most bitter irony of fate."

The trees swayed above his head, and the moon, in its last quarter,
looked dreamily at him.

"Ah," thought Ayrault, "could I but sleep and be happy! Drowsiness and
weariness, fatigue's grasp is on me; or may Sylvia's nearness soothe,
as her voice has brought me calm! Quiet I may some day enjoy, but
slumber again, never! I see that souls in hades must ever have their
misdeeds before them. Happy man in this world, the repentant's sins
are forgiven! You lose your care in sleep. Somnolence and
drowsiness--balm of aching hearts, angels of mercy! Mortals, how
blessed! until you die, God sends you this rest. When I recall summer
evenings with Sylvia, while gentle zephyrs fanned our brows, I would
change Pope's famous line to 'Man never is, but always HAS BEEN
blessed.'"

A clock in a church-steeple now struck three, the sound ringing through
the still night air.

"It will soon be time for ghosts to go," thought Ayrault. "I must not
haunt her dwelling."

There was a light in Sylvia's study, and Ayrault remained meditatively
gazing at it.

"Happy lamp," he thought, "to shed your light on one so fair! She can
see you, and you shine, for her. You are better off than I. Would
th