* * * * *

"I once admired you for your genius. My disease has fastened on me, and
I now almost worship you for yourself. I have seen you, Ernest
Maltravers,--seen you often,--and when you never suspected that these
eyes were on you. Now that I have seen, I understand you better. We
can not judge men by their books and deeds. Posterity can know nothing
of the beings of the past. A thousand books never written--a thousand
deeds never done--are in the eyes and lips of the few greater than the
herd. In that cold, abstracted gaze, that pale and haughty brow, I read
the disdain of obstacles, which is worthy of one who is confident of the
goal. But my eyes fill with tears when I survey you!--you are sad, you
are alone! If failures do not mortify you, success does not elevate.
Oh, Maltravers, I, woman as I am, and living in a narrow circle, I, even
I, know at last that to have desires nobler, and ends more august, than
others, is but to surrender waking life to morbid and melancholy dreams.

* * * * *

"Go more into the world, Maltravers--go more into the world, or quit it
altogether. Your enemies must be met; they accumulate, they grow
strong--you are too tranquil, too slow in your steps towards the prize
which should be yours, to satisfy my impatience, to satisfy your
friends. Be less refined in your ambition that you may be more
immediately useful. The feet of clay after all are the swiftest in the
race. Even Lumley Ferrers will outstrip you if you do not take heed.

* * * * *