d out two bright, especial stars from the
firmament, that I did not think the moon fair or excellent. The love I
bear my mother is so exalted by reverence, it stands apart by itself
like the queen of night, serene and holy, moving in a distinct and lofty
sphere. There is one glory of the sun, Edith, and another glory of the
moon, and one star differeth from another in glory. Yet they are all
glorious in themselves, and all proclaim the goodness and glory of the
Creator."

"I have heard it said," observed Edith, in a low, tremulous tone, "that
when love takes possession of the heart, the natural affections have
comparatively little strength; that it is to them as is the ocean to its
tributaries. I know nothing of it by experience, nor do I wish to, if it
has power to diminish the filial and sisterly tenderness which
constitutes my chief joy."

"My dear Edith, it is not so. Every pure and generous affection expands
the heart, and gives it new capacities for loving. Have you not heard of
heaven,--'the more angels the more room?' So it is with the human heart.
It is elastic, and enlarges with every lawful claimant to be admitted
into its sanctuary. It is true there is a love which admits of no
rivalry;" here his eye turned involuntarily to me, "which enshrines but
one object, which dwells in the inner temple, the angel of angels. But
other affections do not become weaker in consequence of its strength. We
may not see the fire-flame burn as brightly when the sun shines upon it,
but the flame is burning still."

"Gabriella does not speak," said Edith, with an incredulous wave of her
golden locks. "Tell me, Gabriella, are his words true?"

"I am not a very good metaphysician," I answered, "but I should think
the heart very narrow, that could accommodate only those whom Nature
placed in it. It seems to me but a refined species of selfishness."

The color crimsoned on Edith's fair cheek. I had forgotten what she had
said to me of her own exclusive affection. I sympathized so entirely in
his sentiments, expressed with such beautiful enthusiasm, I forgot every
thing else. The moment I had spoken, memory rebuked my transient
oblivion. She must believe it an intentional sarcasm. How could I be so
careless of the feelings of one so gentle and so kind?

"I know _I_ am selfish," she said. "I have told you my weakness,--sin it
may be,--and I deserve the reproach."

"You cannot think I meant it as such. You know I could not. I had