From passion's thrilling kiss,
That _memory_ to many hearts
Is dearer far than bliss!'"

It was reserved for the concluding verse to unnerve him completely; a
verse which I rendered with all the pathos of which I was capable, with
a view to its final effect, I confess:

"'Away! away! the chords are mute,
The bond is rent in twain;
You _cannot_ wake the silent lute,
Or clasp its links again.
Love's toil, I know, is little cost;
Love's perjury is light sin;
But souls that lose what I have lost,
What have they left to win?'"

"What, indeed?" he exclaimed, impetuously--tears now streaming over his
olive cheeks. He flung the reins to me with a quick, convulsive motion,
and covered his face with his hands. Groans burst from his murmuring
lips, and the great deeps of sorrow gave up their secrets. I was sorry
to have so stirred him to the depths by any act or words of mine, and
yet I enjoyed the certainty of his anguish.

I checked the horses beneath a magnolia-tree, and sat quietly waiting
for the flood of emotion to subside as for him to take the initiative. I
had no word to say, no consolation to offer. Nay, after consideration,
rather did I glory in his grief, which redeemed his nature in my
estimation, though grieved in turn to have afflicted him. For, in spite
of all his faults, and my earlier prejudices, I loved this impulsive