rceived in her countenance, always such a
traitor to her emotions, a very different expression from that which
I had anticipated. A deadly paleness spread over her whole face, and a
shudder seemed to creep through her frame. She attempted, however, to
smile away the alarm she had created in me; nor was I able to penetrate
the cause of an emotion so unlooked for. But I continued to speak of the
public announcement of our union as of a thing decided; and at length
she listened to me while I arranged the method of making it, and
sympathized in the future projects I chalked out for us to adopt. Still,
however, when I proposed a definite time for the re-celebration of our
nuptials, she ever drew back and hinted the wish for a longer delay.

"Not so soon, dear Morton," she would say tearfully, "not so soon; we
are happy now, and perhaps when you are with me always you will not love
me so well!"

I reasoned against this notion, and this reluctance, but in vain; and
day passed on day, and even week on week, and our marriage was still
undeclared. I now lived, however, almost wholly with Isora, for busy
tongues could no longer carry my secret to my uncle; and, indeed,
since I had lost the fortune which I was expected to inherit, it is
astonishing how little people troubled their heads about my movements or
myself. I lived then almost wholly with Isora; and did familiarity abate
my love? Strange to say, it did not abate even the romance of it. The
reader may possibly remember a conversation with St. John recorded in
the Second Book of this history. "The deadliest foe to love," said he
(he who had known all love,--that of the senses and that also of the
soul!), "is not change, nor misfortune, nor jealousy, not wrath, nor
anything that flows from passion or emanates from fortune. The deadliest
foe to love is CUSTOM!"

Was St. John right? I believe that in most instances he was; and perhaps
the custom was not continued in my case long enough for me to refute the
maxim. But as yet, the very gloss upon the god's wings was fresh as on
the first day when I had acknowledged his power. Still was Isora to me
the light and the music of existence! still did my heart thrill and leap
within me when her silver and fond voice made the air a blessing! Still
would I hang over her, when her beautiful features lay hushed in sleep,
and watch the varying hues of her cheek; and fancy, while she slept,
that in each low, sweet breath that my lips drew f