he vague and fitful melancholy of the girl?
Shall I ever again see him lean towards me in pity and consolation, that
gentle brow, crowned with silvery locks, illumined with purity and
holiness, and sanctified by the hand of the Lord?

'In the chapel, after mass, I played on the organ music of Bach and of
Cherubini. I played the same prelude as the other evening.

'A soul weeps and moans, weighed down with anguish, weeps and moans and
cries to God, asking His pardon, imploring His aid, with a prayer that
rises to heaven like a tongue of fire. It cries and it is heard--its
prayer is answered; it receives light from above, utters songs of
gladness reaches at length the haven of Peace and Truth and rests in the
Lord----

'The organ is not large nor is the chapel, but, nevertheless, my soul
expanded as in a basilica, soared up as under some vast dome, and
touched the pinnacle of high Heaven where blazes the Sign of Signs in
the azure of Paradise, in the sublime ether.

'Night. Alas: nothing is of any avail--nothing gives me one hour, one
minute, one second's respite. Nothing can ever cure me, no dream of my
mind can ever efface the dream of my heart.--All has been in vain; this
anguish is killing me. I feel that my hurt is mortal, my heart pains me
as if some one were actually crushing it, were tearing it to pieces. My
agony of mind is so great that it has become a physical
torment--atrocious, unbearable. I know perfectly well that I am
overwrought, nervous--the victim of a sort of madness; but I cannot get
the upper hand over myself, cannot pull myself together, cannot regain
control of my reason. I cannot--I simply cannot!

'So this, then, is love!

'He went off somewhere this morning on horseback accompanied by a
servant before I saw him, and I spent the whole morning in the chapel.
When lunch time came he had not returned. His absence caused me such
misery that I myself was astonished at the violence of my pain. I came
up to my room afterwards, and to ease my heart I wrote a page of my
journal, a devotional page, seeking to revive my fainting spirit at the
glowing memory of my girlhood's faith. Then I read a few pieces, here
and there, of Shelley's _Epipsychidion_, after which I went down into
the park looking for Delfina. But no matter what I did, the thought of
him was ever present with me, held me captive and tortured me
relentlessly.

'When, at last, I heard his voice again, I was on the first terrace. He
wa