if she were sincere, and if her love
were at all like his own, she would let no obstacle stand in the way of
it. To him, the test of love must be its utter recklessness. He could
not believe that a still better test may be, and is, the constant
forethought for the object of love, and the determination to protect
that object from all danger in the present and from all suffering in the
future, no matter at what cost.

Perhaps it is not easy to believe that recklessness is a manifestation
of the second degree of passion, while the highest shows itself in
painful sacrifice. Yet the most daring act of chivalry never called for
half the bravery shown by many a martyr at the stake, and if courage be
a measure of true passion, the passion which will face life-long
suffering to save its object from unhappiness or degradation is greater
than the passion which, for the sake of possessing its object, drags it
into danger and the risk of ruin. It may be that all this is untrue, and
that the action of these two imaginary individuals, the one sacrificing
himself, the other endangering the loved one, is dependent upon the
balance of the animal, intellectual and moral elements in each. We do
not know much about the causes of what we feel, in spite of modern
analysis; but the heart rarely deceives us, when we can see the truth
for ourselves, into bestowing the more praise upon the less brave of two
deeds. But we do not often see the truth as it is. We know little of the
lives of others, but we are apt to think that other people understand
our own very well, including our good deeds if we have done any, and we
expect full measure of credit for these, and the utmost allowance of
charity for our sins. In other words we desire our neighbour to combine
a power of forgiveness almost divine with a capacity for flattery more
than parasitic. That is why we are not easily satisfied with our
acquaintances and that is why our friends do not always turn out to be
truthful persons. We ask too much for the low price we offer, and if we
insist we get the imitation.

Orsino loved Maria Consuelo with all his heart, as much as a young man
of little more than one and twenty can love the first woman to whom he
is seriously attached. There was nothing heroic in the passion, perhaps,
nothing which could ultimately lead to great results. But it was a
strong love, nevertheless, with much, of devotion in it and some latent
violence. If he did not marry Maria Co