onspiracy, snatches of
fierce wars and mocking loves, I stood beside our native fountain's
brink, and gathered flowers with my earliest friend. As I placed the
fragrant captives in your flowing locks, there came Jabaster, that
great, injured man, no longer stern and awful, but with benignant
looks, and full of love. And he said, "David, the Lord hath marked thy
faithfulness, in spite of the darkness of thy dungeon." So he vanished.
He spoke, my sister, of some strange temptations by heavenly aid
withstood. No more of that. I awoke. And lo! I heard my name still
called. Full of my morning dream, I thought it was you, and I answered,
"Dear sister, art thou here?" But no one answered; and then, reflecting,
my memory recognised those thrilling tones that summoned Alroy in
Jabaster's cave.' 'The Daughter of the Voice?' 'Even that sacred
messenger. I am full of faith. The Lord hath pardoned me. Be sure of
that.'

'I cannot doubt it, David. You have done great things for Israel; no one
in these latter days has risen like you. If you have fallen, you were
young, and strangely tempted.'

'Yet Israel, Israel! Did I not feel a worthier leader will yet arise, my
heart would crack. I have betrayed my country!'

'Oh no, no, no! You have shown what we can do and shall do. Your memory
alone is inspiration. A great career, although baulked of its end, is
still a landmark of human energy. Failure, when sublime, is not without
its purpose. Great deeds are great legacies, and work with wondrous
usury. By what Man has done, we learn what Man can do; and gauge the
power and prospects of our race.'

'Alas! there is no one to guard my name. 'Twill be reviled; or worse,
'twill be forgotten.'

'Never! the memory of great actions never dies. The sun of glory, though
awhile obscured, will shine at last. And so, sweet brother, perchance
some poet, in some distant age, within whose veins our sacred blood may
flow, his fancy fired with the national theme, may strike his harp to
Alroy's wild career, and consecrate a name too long forgotten?'

'May love make thee a prophetess!' exclaimed Alroy, as he bent down his
head and embraced her. 'Do not tarry,' he whispered. ''Tis better that
we should part in this firm mood.'

She sprang from him, she clasped her hands. 'We will not part,' she
exclaimed, with energy; 'I will die with thee.'

'Blessed girl, be calm! Do not unman me.'

'I am calm. See! I do not weep. Not a tear, not a tear. They are a