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