“How fortunate am I,” said Florence, one day, “that my choice fell on one who thinks as you do! How your words elevate and exalt me!--yet once I never dreamt of asking your creed on these questions. It is in sorrow or sickness that we learn why Faith was given as a soother to man--Faith, which is Hope with a holier name--hope that knows neither deceit nor death. Ah, how wisely do you speak of the _philosophy_ of belief! It is, indeed, the telescope through which the stars grow large upon our gaze. And to you, Ernest, my beloved--comprehended and known at last--to you I leave, when I am gone, that monitor--that friend; you will know yourself what you teach to me. And when you look not on the heaven alone but in all space--on all the illimitable creation, you will know that I am there! For the home of a spirit is wherever spreads the Universal Presence of God. And to what numerous stages of being, what paths, what duties, what active and glorious tasks in other worlds may we not be reserved--perhaps to know and share them together, and mount age after age higher in the scale of being. For surely in heaven there is no pause or torpor--we do not lie down in calm and unimprovable repose. Movement and progress will remain the law and condition of existence. And there will be efforts and duties for us above as there have been below.” It was in this theory, which Maltravers shared, that the character of Florence, her overflowing life and activity of thought--her aspirations, her ambition, were still displayed. It was not so much to the calm and rest of the grave that she extended her unreluctant gaze, as to the light and glory of a renewed and progressive existence. It was while thus they sat, the low voice of Ernest, tranquil yet half trembling with the emotions he sought to restrain--sometimes sobering, sometimes yet more elevating, the thoughts of Florence, that Lord Vargrave was announced, and Lumley Ferrers, who had now succeeded to that title, entered the room. It was the first time that Florence had seen him since the death of his uncle--the first time Maltravers had seen him since the evening so fatal to Florence. Both started--Maltravers rose and walked to the window. Lord Vargrave took the hand of his cousin and pressed it to his lips in silence, while his looks betokened feelings that for once were genuine. “You see, Lumley, I am resigned,” said Florence, with a sweet smile. “I am resigned and happy.” Lumley glanced at Maltravers, and met a cold, scrutinising, piercing eye, from which he shrank with some confusion. He recovered himself in an instant. “I am rejoiced, my cousin, I _am_ rejoiced,” said he, very earnestly, “to see Maltravers here again. Let us now hope the best.” Maltravers walked deliberately up to Lumley. “Will you take my hand _now_, too?” said he, with deep meaning in his tone. “More willingly than ever,” said Lumley; and he did not shrink as he said it.