d　on：　he　breathed　fast　and　low：　I　stood　silent。　Amidst　this　hush　the　quartet　sped；　he　replaced　the　watch；　laid　the　picture　down；　rose；　and　stood　on　the　hearth。

“Now；”　said　he；　“that　little　space　was　given　to　delirium　and　delusion。　I　rested　my　temples　on　the　breast　of　temptation；　and　put　my　neck　voluntarily　under　her　yoke　of　flowers。　I　tasted　her　cup。　The　pillow　was　burning：　there　is　an　asp　in　the　garland：　the　wine　has　a　bitter　taste：　her　promises　are　hollow—her　offers　false：　I　see　and　know　all　this。”

I　gazed　at　him　in　wonder。

“It　is　strange；”　pursued　he；　“that　while　I　love　Rosamond　Oliver　so　wildly—with　all　the　intensity；　indeed；　of　a　first　passion；　the　object　of　which　is　exquisitely　beautiful；　graceful；　fascinating—I　experience　at　the　same　time　a　calm；　unwarped　consciousness　that　she　would　not　make　me　a　good　wife；　that　she　is　not　the　partner　suited　to　me；　that　I　should　discover　this　within　a　year　after　marriage；　and　that　to　twelve　months’　rapture　would　succeed　a　lifetime　of　regret。　This　I　know。”

“Strange　indeed！”　I　could　not　help　ejaculating。

“While　something　in　me；”　he　went　on；　“is　acutely　sensible　to　her　charms；　something　else　is　as　deeply　impressed　with　her　defects：　they　are　such　that　she　could　sympathise　in　nothing　I　aspired　to—co…　operate　in　nothing　I　undertook。　Rosamond　a　sufferer；　a　labourer；　a　female　apostle？　Rosamond　a　missionary’s　wife？　No！”

“But　you　need　not　be　a　missionary。　You　might　relinquish　that　scheme。”

“Relinquish！　What！　my　vocation？　My　great　work？　My　foundation　laid　on　earth　for　a　mansion　in　heaven？　My　hopes　of　being　numbered　in　the　band　who　have　merged　all　ambitions　in　the　glorious　one　of　bettering　their　race—of　carrying　knowledge　into　the　realms　of　ignorance—of　substituting　peace　for　war—freedom　for