ma, what startling discoveries would we make! Reality
goes beyond the wildest imaginings of romance,--beyond the majestic
sweep of human genius. Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor imagination
conceived, the wild extent to which the passions of man may go. The
empire of passion is veiled, and its battle ground is secret Who beheld
the interview in the library, which I have just described? Who saw him
kneeling at his mother's feet at the midnight hour? Or who witnessed our
scenes of agony and reconciliation in the palace walls of our winter
home? Ah! the world sees only the surface of the great deep of the
heart. It has never plunged into the innermost main,--never beheld the
seething and the rolling of the unfathomable mystery:--

"And where is the diver so stout to go,--
I ask ye again--to the deep below?"

Well do I remember the thrilling legend of the roaring whirlpools, the
golden goblet, and the dauntless diver, and well do I read its meaning.

O Ernest! I have cast the golden goblet of happiness into a maelstrom,
and he alone, who walked unsinking the waves of Galilee, can bring back
the lost treasure from the dark and boiling vortex.

CHAPTER XLIX.

Julian was worthy of Edith. His parentage was honorable and pure, his
connections irreproachable, and his own character noble and unblemished.
Reason could oppose no obstacle, and the young artist was received into
the family as the betrothed of the lovely lame girl.

The romantic idea which had suggested itself to my mind, that he might
be the son of Theresa and my own half-brother, had vanished before the
testimonies of his birth. Another daydream too. I had always looked
forward to the hour when Richard would transfer his affections to Edith,
and be rewarded by her love for his youthful disappointment. But she was
destined to reign in undivided sovereignty over a heart that had never
been devoted to another; to be loved with all the fervor of passion and
all the enthusiasm of genius.

It was the day of social gathering at Dr. Harlowe's; but I remained at
home. I felt as if I could not be missed from the circle in which Madge,
in bridal charms, sparkled a ruby gem, and the fairer Edith shone, a
living pearl. Though scarcely one year a wife, the discipline of my
wedded experience had so chastened and subdued me, I seemed to myself
quite a matron, beside those on whom the morning glow of love and hope
were beaming. Madge and Edith were both ol