"Would that you could read every thought of my heart, Ernest, every emotion of my soul, then you would know, what words can never express,--the height and depth of my love and devotion--I will not _say_ gratitude--since you reject and disown it,--but that I must ever feel. Can I ever forget the generosity, the magnanimity, which, overlooking the cloud upon my birth, has made me the sharer of your princely destiny, the mistress of a home like this?" "You do not care for it, only as the expression of my affection; I am sure you do not," he repeated, and his dark gray eye seemed to read the inmost depths of thought. "Oh, no! a cottage or a palace would be alike to me, provided you are near me. It seems to me now as if I should awake in the morning, and find I had been in a dream. I am not sure that you have not a magic ring on your finger that produces this illusion." But the morning sunbeams flashed on the softly murmuring fountain, on the white polished forms of the Grecian myths, on the trailing luxuriance of the tropic blossoms. They glanced in on the glittering drapery that wreathed the marble columns, and lighted the crystal dome over my head with a mild, subdued radiance. A boudoir which I had not seen the evening before elicited my morning admiration,--it was furnished with such exquisite elegance, and contained so many specimens of the fine arts. Two rosewood cabinets, inlaid with pearl, were filled with _chefs-d'[oe]uvres_ from the hands of masters, collected in the old world. They were locked; but through the glass doors I could gaze and admire, and make them all my own. An elegant escritoire was open on the table, the only thing with which I could associate the idea of utility. Yes, there was a harp, that seemed supported by a marble cherub,--a most magnificent instrument. I sighed to think it was useless to me; but Ernest's hand would steal music from its silent strings. And now behold me installed as mistress of this luxurious mansion, an utter stranger in the heart of a great metropolis!