e kind to Margaret."

"Do you know, Gabriella, she once wished me to think of her as a wife?
That was before her character was formed, however,--when its wild,
untamable elements revelled in the morning freedom of girlhood, and
reason and judgment were not expected to exert their restraining
influence. Think of such an union, my flower-girl, my Mimosa. Do I
deserve quite so severe a punishment?"

"You would have lived in a perpetual fever of jealousy, or a state of
open anarchy. There would have been some memorable scenes in your diary,
I am certain."

"Jealousy! The idea of being jealous of such a being as Margaret! The
'rhinoceran bear' might inspire the passion as soon. No, Gabriella, I do
not believe I could be jealous of another woman in the world, for I
cannot conceive of the possibility of my ever loving another; and the
intensity of my love creates a trembling fear, that a treasure so
inestimable, so unspeakably dear, may be snatched from my arms. It is
not so much distrust of you, as myself. I fear the casket is not worthy
of the jewel it enshrines."

"Be just to yourself, Ernest, and then you will be just to all mankind."

"The truth is, Gabriella, I have no self-esteem. A celebrated German
phrenologist examined my head, and pronounced it decidedly deficient in
the swelling organ of self-appreciation."

He took my hand and placed it on his head, amid his soft, luxuriant dark
hair, and it certainly met no elevation. I was not skilled in the
science of phrenology, and there might be a defect in the formation of
his head; but on his noble brow, it seemed to me that "every God had set
its seal," and left the impress of his own divinity.

We started, for the steps of Madge were heard rushing up the marble
stairs, and the sound of her laugh swept before her, and pressed against
the door like a strong gale.

Oh Madge! that any one should ever have thought of you as the wife of
Ernest.

CHAPTER XXXV.

It was not till the next morning that I dared to read the contents of
the note. It was in the magnificent bathing-room, on whose retirement no
one ever intruded, that I perused these pencilled lines, evidently
written with a hasty and agitated hand.

"Can it be that I have found a daughter? Yes! in those lovely features I
trace the living semblance of my beloved Rosalie. Where is she, my
child? Where is your angel mother, whom I have sought sorrowing so many
years? They tell me that you are married,