ched and fled from the presence of the
sacrilegious murderer of the Archbishop, to the evening when the heir of
the line lay stretched a corpse before his father's gate.

Guy sat resting on his oars, gazing at the scene, full of happiness,
yet with a sense that it might be too bright to last, as if it scarcely
befitted one like himself. The bliss before him, though it was surely a
beam from heaven, was so much above him, that he hardly dared to believe
it real: like a child repeating, 'Is it my own, my very own?' and
pausing before it will venture to grasp at a prize beyond its hopes. He
feared to trust himself fully, lest it should carry him away from his
self-discipline, and dazzle him too much to let him keep his gaze on the
light beyond; and he rejoiced in this time of quiet, to enable him
to strive for power over his mind, to prevent himself from losing in
gladness the balance he had gained in adversity.

It was such a check as he might have wished for, to look at that grim
old castle, recollect who he was, and think of the frail tenure of all
earthly joy, especially for one of the house of Morville. Could that
abode ever be a home for a creature like Amy, with the bright innocent
mirth that seemed too soft and sweet ever to be overshadowed by gloom
and sorrow? Perhaps she might be early taken from him in the undimmed
beauty of her happiness and innocence, and he might have to struggle
through a long lonely life with only the remembrance of a short-lived
joy to lighten it; and when he reflected that this was only a melancholy
fancy, the answer came from within, that there was nothing peculiar to
him in the perception that earthly happiness was fleeting. It was
best that so it should be, and that he should rest in the trust that
brightened on him through all,--that neither life nor death, sorrow nor
pain, could separate, for ever, him and his Amy.

And he looked up into the deep blue sky overhead, murmuring to himself,
'In heart and mind thither ascend, and with Him continually dwell,' and
gazed long and intently as he rocked on the green waters, till he again
spoke to himself,--'Why stand ye here gazing up into heaven?' then
pulled vigorously back to the shore, leaving a shining wake far behind
him.

CHAPTER 29

Hark, how the birds do sing,
And woods do ring!
All creatures have their joy, and man hath his;
Yet if we rightly measure,
Man's joy and pleasure
Rather hereafter