ic in its roar; even a savage
joy in its destruction: for we can exult in a defiance of its power,
even while we share in its triumphs, in a consciousness of a superior
spirit within us to that which is around. We can mock at the fury of the
elements, for they are less terrible than the passions of the heart; at
the devastations of the awful skies, for they are less desolating than
the wrath of man; at the convulsions of that surrounding nature which
has no peril, no terror to the soul, which is more indestructible and
eternal than itself. Falkland turned towards the house which contained
his world; and as the lightning revealed at intervals the white columns
of the porch, and wrapt in sheets of fire, like a spectral throng, the
tall and waving trees by which it was encircled, and then as suddenly
ceased, and "the jaws of darkness" devoured up the scene; he compared,
with that bitter alchymy of feeling which resolves all into one crucible
of thought, those alternations of sight and shadow to the history of
his own guilty love--that passion whose birth was the womb of Night;
shrouded in darkness, surrounded by storms, and receiving only from the
angry heavens a momentary brilliance, more terrible than its customary
gloom.

As he entered the saloon, Lady Margaret advanced towards him. "My dear
Falkland," said she, "how good it is in you to come in such a night. We
have been watching the skies till Emily grew terrified at the lightning;
formerly it did not alarm her." And Lady Margaret turned, utterly
unconscious of the reproach she had conveyed, towards Emily.

Did not Falkland's look turn also to that spot? Lady Emily was sitting
by the harp which Mrs. St. John appeared to be most seriously employed
in tuning: her countenance was bent downwards, and burning beneath the
blushes called forth by the gaze which she felt was upon her.

There was in Falkland's character a peculiar dislike to all outward
display of less worldly emotions. He had none of the vanity most men
have in conquest; he would not have had any human being know that he was
loved. He was right! No altar should be so unseen and inviolable as
the human heart! He saw at once and relieved the embarrassment he
had caused. With the remarkable fascination and grace of manner
so peculiarly his own, he made his excuses to Lady Margaret of his
disordered dress; he charmed his uncle, Don Alphonso, with a quotation
from Lope de Vega; he inquired tenderly of Mrs. Dalto