She kissed me without speaking; but I read in her expressive countenance that mingled look of grief and resignation with which we follow a friend to that bourne where we cannot follow them. Edith was lost to her. She was willing to forsake her mother for the stranger's home,--she who seemed bound to her by the dependence of childhood, as well as the close companionship of riper years. I read this in her saddened glance; but I did not deem her selfish. Other feelings, too, doubtless blended with her own personal regrets. She had no reason to look upon marriage as a state of perfect felicity. Her own had been unhappy. She knew the dark phantom that haunted our wedded hours; and what if the same hereditary curse should cling to Edith,--who might become morbidly sensitive on account of her personal misfortune? Knowing it was the last evening of our stay, I felt as if every moment were lost, passed within doors. It seemed to me, now, as if I had literally seen nothing, so stupendously did images of beauty and grandeur grow upon my mind, and so consciously and surprisingly did my mind expand to receive them. The hour of sunset approached,--the last sunset that I should behold, shining in golden glory on the sheeted foam of the Falls. And then I saw, what I never expect to witness again, till I see the eternal rainbows round about the throne of God,--three entire respondent circles, one glowing with seven-fold beams within the other, full, clear, distinct as the starry stripes of our country's banner,--no fracture in the smooth, majestic curves,--no dimness in the gorgeous dyes. And moonlight,--moonlight on the Falls! I have read of moonlight on the ruins of the Coliseum; in the mouldering remains of Grecian elegance and Roman magnificence; but what is it compared to this? The eternal youth, the undecaying grandeur of nature, illumined by that celestial light which lends glory to ruins, and throws the illusion of beauty over the features of decay! Edith wandered with Julian in the stilly moonlight, and their low voices were heard by each other amid the din of the roaring cataract. Ernest was troubled. He was jealous even of a sister's love, and looked coldly on the aspiring Julian. "He must prove himself worthy of Edith," he said. "He must not follow her to Grandison Place, till he can bring credentials, establishing his claims to confidence and regard." Before we parted at night Edith drew me aside, and told me that her mother had consented to leave the decision of her destiny to _time_, which would either prove Julian's claims to her love, or convince her that he was unworthy of her regard. He was not permitted to accompany her home; but she was sure he would follow, with testimonials, such as a prince need not blush to own.