afflicted him. For, in spite
of all his faults, and my earlier prejudices, I loved this impulsive
Southron man, as Scott has it, "right brotherly."

At last, looking up grave, tearless, and pale, and resuming his reins
without apology for having surrendered them, he said, abruptly:

"All is so vain! Such mockery now to me! She was the sole reality of
this universe to my heart! I grapple with shadows unceasingly. There is
not on the face of this globe a more desolate wretch. You understand
this! You feel for me, you do not deride me! You know how perfect, how
spiritual she was! You loved her well--I saw it in your eyes, your
manner--and for that, if nothing else, you have my heart-felt gratitude.
So few appreciated her unearthly purity. Yet, was it not strange she
should have loved a man so gross, so steeped in sensuous, thoughtless
enjoyment--so remote from God as I am--have ever been? But the song
speaks for me"--waving his gauntleted hand--"better than I can speak:

"'Away! away! the chords are mute,
The bond is rent in twain.'"

"I shall never marry again--never! Miss Miriam, I know now, and shall
know evermore, in all its fullness, and weariness, and bitterness, the
meaning of that terrible word--alone! Eternal solitude. The Robinson
Crusoe of society. A sort of social Daniel Boone. Thus you must ever
consider me. And yet, just think of it, Miss Harz!"

"Oh, but you will not always feel so; there may come a time of
reaction." I hesitated. It was not my purpose to encourage change.

"No, never! never!" he interrupted, passionately; "don't even suggest
it--don't! and check me sternly if ever I forget my grief again in
frivolity of any sort in your presence. You are a noble, sweet woman,
with breadth enough of character to make allowances for the shortcomings
of a poor, miserable man like me--trying to cheat himself back into
gayety and the interests of life. I have sisters, but they are not like
you. I wish to Heaven they were! There is not a woman in the world on
whom I have any claims--on whose shoulder I can lean my head and take a
hearty cry. And what are men at such a season? Mocking fiends, usually,
the best of them! I shall go abroad, Miss Harz. I am no anchorite. You
will hear of me as a gay man of the world, perhaps; but, as to being
happy, that can never be again! The bubble of life has burst, and my
existence falls flat to the earth. Victor Favraud, that airy nothing, is
scarcely a 'local habit