"The concoction of the draught has been perfect," said he, in
answer to Georgiana's look. "Unless all my science have deceived
me, it cannot fail."

"Save on your account, my dearest Aylmer," observed his wife, "I
might wish to put off this birthmark of mortality by
relinquishing mortality itself in preference to any other mode.
Life is but a sad possession to those who have attained precisely
the degree of moral advancement at which I stand. Were I weaker
and blinder it might be happiness. Were I stronger, it might be
endured hopefully. But, being what I find myself, methinks I am
of all mortals the most fit to die."

"You are fit for heaven without tasting death!" replied her
husband "But why do we speak of dying? The draught cannot fail.
Behold its effect upon this plant."

On the window seat there stood a geranium diseased with yellow
blotches, which had overspread all its leaves. Aylmer poured a
small quantity of the liquid upon the soil in which it grew. In a
little time, when the roots of the plant had taken up the
moisture, the unsightly blotches began to be extinguished in a
living verdure.

"There needed no proof," said Georgiana, quietly. "Give me the
goblet I joyfully stake all upon your word."

"Drink, then, thou lofty creature!" exclaimed Aylmer, with fervid
admiration. "There is no taint of imperfection on thy spirit. Thy