ated.

"Where would you take me?" he asked.

"To the chapel. Zara's body lies there."

He shuddered.

"No, no--not there! I cannot bear to look upon her perished
loveliness--to see that face, once so animated, white and rigid--death
in such a form is too horrible!"

And he covered his eyes with his hand--I saw tears slowly drop through
his fingers. I gazed at him, half in wonder, half in pity.

"And yet you are a brave man!" I said.

These words roused him. He met my gaze with such a haggard look of woe
that my heart ached for him. What comfort had he now? What joy could he
ever expect? All his happiness was centred in the fact of BEING
ALIVE--alive to the pleasures of living, and to the joys the world
could offer to a man who was strong, handsome, rich, and
accomplished--how could he look upon death as otherwise than a
loathsome thing--a thing not to be thought of in the heyday of youthful
blood and jollity--a doleful spectre, in whose bony hands the roses of
love must fall and wither! With a sense of deep commiseration in me, I
spoke again with great gentleness.

"You need not look upon Zara's corpse unless you wish it, Prince," I
said. "To you, the mysteries of the Hereafter have not been unlocked,
because there is something in your nature that cannot and will not
believe in God. Therefore to you, death must be repellent. I know you
are one of those for whom the present alone exists--you easily forget
the past, and take no trouble for the future. Paris is your heaven, or
St. Petersburg, or Vienna, as the fancy takes you; and the modern
atheistical doctrines of French demoralization are in your blood.
Nothing but a heaven-sent miracle could make you other than you are,
and miracles do not exist for the materialist. But let me say two words
more before you go from this house. Seek no more to avenge yourself for
your love-disappointment on Heliobas--for you have really nothing to
avenge. By your own confession you only cared for Zara's body--that
body was always perishable, and it has perished by a sudden but natural
catastrophe. With her soul, you declare you had nothing in common--that
was herself--and she is alive to us who love her as she sought to be
loved. Heliobas is innocent of having slain her body; he but helped to
cultivate and foster that beautiful Spirit which he knew to be HER--for
that he is to be honored and commended. Promise me, therefore, Prince
Ivan, that you will never approach him again e