I knew you. I have read somewhere that the slave is gay in his holiday
from toil; if you free him, if you educate him, the gayety vanishes, and
he cares no more for the dance under the palm-tree. But is he less
happy? So it is with me!"

"My sweet Helen, I would rather have one gay smile of old, the arch,
careless laugh which came so naturally from those rosy lips, than hear
you talk of happiness with that quiver in your voice,--those tears in
your eyes."

"Yet gayety," said Helen, thoughtfully, and in the strain of her pure,
truthful poetry of soul, "is only the light impression of the present
moment,--the play of the mere spirits; and happiness seems a forethought
of the future, spreading on, far and broad, over all time and space."

"And you live, then, in the future at last; you have no misgivings now,
my Helen? Well, that comforts me. Say it, Helen,--say the future will
be ours!"

"It will, it will,--forever and forever," said Helen, earnestly; and her
eyes involuntarily rested on the Cross.

In his younger spirit and less imaginative nature Percival did not
comprehend the depth of sadness implied in Helen's answer; taking it
literally, he felt as if a load were lifted from his heart, and kissing
with rapture the hand he held, he exclaimed: "Yes, this shall soon, oh,
soon be mine! I fear nothing while you hope. You cannot guess how those
words have cheered me; for I am leaving you, though but for a few hours,
and I shall repeat those words, for they will ring in my ear, in my
heart, till we meet again."