rning home, had continued my potations with the more fiery spirit of
"Catalan." By this means I gained relief and sleep, but only of short
duration. Long before day I was awake--awake to the double bitterness
of jealousy and shame--awake to both mental and physical pain, for the
fumes of the vile stuff I had drunk wrecked my brain as though they
would burst open my skull. An ounce of opium would not have set me to
sleep again, and I tossed on my couch like one labouring under delirium.

Of course the incidents of the preceding night were uppermost in my
mind. Every scene and action that had occurred were as plainly before
me as if I was again witnessing them. Every effort to alienate my
thoughts, and fix them upon some other theme, proved vain and idle; they
ever returned to the same circle of reflections, in the centre of which
was Isolina de Vargas! I thought of all that had passed, of all she had
said. I remembered every word. How bitterly I remembered that scornful
laugh!--how bitterly that sarcastic smile, when the double mask was
removed!

The very remembrance of her beauty pained me! It was now to me as to
Tantalus the crystal waters, never to be tasted. Before, I had formed
hopes, had indulged in prospective dreams: the masquerade adventure had
dissipated them. I no longer hoped, no longer permitted myself to dream
of pleasant times to come: I felt that I was scorned.

This feeling produced a momentary revulsion in my thoughts. There were
moments when I hated her, and vengeful impulses careered across my soul.

These were fleeting moments: again before me rose that lovely form, that
proud grand spirit, in the full entirety of its power, and again my soul
became absorbed in admiration, and yielded itself to its hopeless
passion. It was far from being my first love. And thus experienced, I
could reason upon it. I felt certain it was to be the strongest and
stormiest of my life.

I know of three loves distinct in kind and power. First, when the
passion is reciprocated--when the heart of the beloved yields back
thought for thought, and throb for throb, without one reserved
pulsation. This is bliss upon earth--not always long-lived--ending
perchance in a species of sublimated friendship. To have is no longer
to desire.

The second is love entirely unrequited--love that never knew word or
smile of encouragement, no soft whisper to fan it into flame, no ray of
hope to feed upon. Such dies of in