e pass to greet them in the dawn of the immortal morning.

Yes, within the secret breast of Morris the flame of memory still
burned, and still seethed those bitter waters of desire for the dead.
There was nothing carnal about this desire, since the passions of the
flesh perish with the flesh. Nor was there anything of what a man may
feel when he sees the woman whom he loves and who loves him, forced to
another fate, for to those he robs death has this advantage over the
case of other successful rivals: his embrace purifies, and of it we are
not jealous. The longing was spiritual, and for this reason it did not
weaken, but, indeed, became a part of him, to grow with the spirit from
which it took its birth. Still, had it not been for a chance occurrence,
there, in the spirit, it might have remained buried, in due course to
pass away with it and seek its expression in unknown conditions and
regions unexplored.

In a certain fashion Morris was happy enough. He was very fond of his
wife, and he adored his little children as men of tender nature do adore
those that are helpless, and for whose existence they are responsible.
He appreciated his public reputation, his wealth, and the luxury that
lapped him round, and above all he was glad to have been the means of
restoring, and, indeed, of advancing the fortunes of his family.

Moreover, as has been said, above all things he desired to please Mary,
the lovely, amiable woman who had complimented him with her unvarying
affection; and--when he went astray--who, with scarcely a reproach, had
led him back into its gentle fold. Least of all, therefore, was it his
will to flaunt before her eyes the spectre from a past which she wished
to forget, or even to let her guess that such a past still permeated
his present. Therefore, on this subject settled the silence of the dead,
till at length Mary, observant as she was, became well-nigh convinced
that Stella Fregelius was forgotten, and that her fantastic promises
were disproved. Yet no mistake could have been more profound.

It was Morris's habit, whenever he could secure an evening to himself,
which was not very often, to walk to the Rectory and smoke his pipe in
the company of Mr. Fregelius. Had Mary chanced to be invisibly present,
or to peruse a stenographic report of what passed at one of these
evening calls--whereof, for reasons which she suppressed, she did not
entirely approve--she might have found sufficient cause to vary her