me for ever. . . . Then, when I came hither to vent at my father's
grave the indignant grief I suffered not the world to see, you and your
mother (she who professed for me such loyal friendship, such ineffaceable
gratitude), you two came kindly to share my solitude--and then, then you
were a child no more!--and a sun that had never gilt my life brightened
out of the face of the Caroline of old!" He paused a moment, heeding not
her bitter weeping; he was rapt from the present hour itself by the
excess of that anguish which is to woe what ecstasy is to joy--swept
along by the flood of thoughts that had been pent within his breast
through the solitary days and haunted nights, which had made the long
transition state from his manhood's noon to its gathering eve. And in
that pause there came from afar off a melodious, melancholy strain-
softly, softly borne over the cold blue waters--softly, softly through
the sere autumnal leaves--the music of the magic flute!

"Hark!" he said, "do you not remember? Look to that beech-tree yonder!
Summer clothed it then! Do you not remember! as under that tree we
stood--that same, same note came, musical as now, undulating with rise
and fall--came, as if to interpret, by a voice from fairyland, the
beating of my own mysterious heart. You had been pleading for pardon to
one less ungrateful--less perfidious--than my comforter proved herself.
I had listened to you, wondering why anger and wrong seemed banished from
the world; and I murmured, in answer, without conscious thought of
myself: 'Happy the man whose faults your bright charity will admonish--
whose griefs your tenderness will chase away! But when, years hence,
children are born to yourself, spare me the one who shall most resemble
you, to replace the daughter whom I can only sincerely pardon when
something else can spring up to my desolate being--something that I can
cherish without the memory of falsehood and the dread of shame.' Yes, as
I ceased, came that music; and as it thrilled through the summer air, I