pair or discolour things, it
is our senses in revolt, and they have made the sovereign brain their
drudge. I heard you whisper; with your very breath in my ear: "There
is nothing the body suffers that the soul may not profit by." That is
Emma's history. With that I sail into the dark; it is my promise of the
immortal: teaches me to see immortality for us. It comes from you, my
Emmy.'

If not a great saying, it was in the heart of deep thoughts: proof
to Emma that her Tony's mind had resumed its old clear high-aiming
activity; therefore that her nature was working sanely, and that she
accepted her happiness, and bore love for a dower to her husband. No
blushing confession of the woman's love of the man would have told her
so much as the return to mental harmony with the laws of life shown in
her darling's pellucid little sentence.

She revolved it long after the day of the wedding. To Emma, constantly
on the dark decline of the unillumined verge, between the two worlds,
those words were a radiance and a nourishment. Had they waned she would
have trimmed them to feed her during her soul-sister's absence. They
shone to her of their vitality. She was lying along her sofa, facing
her South-western window, one afternoon of late November, expecting Tony
from her lengthened honeymoon trip, while a sunset in the van of frost,
not without celestial musical reminders of Tony's husband, began to
deepen; and as her friend was coming, she mused on the scenes of her
friend's departure, and how Tony, issuing from her cottage porch had
betrayed her feelings in the language of her sex by stooping to lift
above her head and kiss the smallest of her landlady's children
ranged up the garden-path to bid her farewell over their strewing of
flowers;--and of her murmur to Tony, entering the churchyard, among the
grave-mounds: 'Old Ireland won't repent it!' and Tony's rejoinder,
at the sight of the bridegroom advancing, beaming: 'A singular
transformation of Old England!'--and how, having numberless ready
sources of laughter and tears down the run of their heart-in-heart
intimacy, all spouting up for a word in the happy tremour of the
moment, they had both bitten their lips and blinked on a moisture of
the eyelids. Now the dear woman was really wedded, wedded and mated. Her
letters breathed, in their own lively or thoughtful flow, of the perfect
mating. Emma gazed into the depths of the waves of crimson, where
brilliancy of colour came out of