part of our happiness.

"With these notions can I conform to the maxims of worldly wisdom? can
I listen to the cold dictates of worldly prudence and bid my tumultuous
passions cease to vex me, be still, find content in grovelling pursuits,
and the admiration of the misjudging crowd, when it is only one I wish
to please--one who could be all the world to me. Argue not with me, I am
bound by human ties; but did my spirit ever promise to love, or could I
consider when forced to bind myself--to take a vow, that at the awful
day of judgment I must give an account of. My conscience does not smite
me, and that Being who is greater than the internal monitor, may approve
of what the world condemns; sensible that in Him I live, could I brave
His presence, or hope in solitude to find peace, if I acted contrary to
conviction, that the world might approve of my conduct--what could the
world give to compensate for my own esteem? it is ever hostile and armed
against the feeling heart!

"Riches and honours await me, and the cold moralist might desire me to
sit down and enjoy them--I cannot conquer my feelings, and till I do,
what are these baubles to me? you may tell me I follow a fleeting good,
an _ignis fatuus_; but this chase, these struggles prepare me for
eternity--when I no longer see through a glass darkly I shall not reason
about, but _feel_ in what happiness consists."

Henry had not attempted to interrupt her; he saw she was determined, and
that these sentiments were not the effusion of the moment, but well
digested ones, the result of strong affections, a high sense of honour,
and respect for the source of all virtue and truth. He was startled, if
not entirely convinced by her arguments; indeed her voice, her gestures
were all persuasive.

Some one now entered the room; he looked an answer to her long harangue;
it was fortunate for him, or he might have been led to say what in a
cooler moment he had determined to conceal; but were words necessary to
reveal it? He wished not to influence her conduct--vain precaution; she
knew she was beloved; and could she forget that such a man loved her, or
rest satisfied with any inferior gratification. When passion first
enters the heart, it is only a return of affection that is sought after,
and every other remembrance and wish is blotted out.

CHAP. XIX.

Two days passed away without any particular conversation; Henry, trying
to be indifferent, or to appear so, was more as