Had anything been wanting to complete Madeline’s happiness, the change in Aram supplied the want. The sudden starts, the abrupt changes of mood and countenance, that had formerly characterized him, were now scarcely, if ever, visible. He seemed to have resigned himself with confidence to the prospects of the future, and to have forsworn the haggard recollections of the past; he moved, and looked, and smiled like other men; he was alive to the little circumstances around him, and no longer absorbed in the contemplation of a separate and strange existence within himself. Some scattered fragments of his poetry bear the date of this time: they are chiefly addressed to Madeline, and, amidst the vows of love, a spirit, sometimes of a wild and bursting--sometimes of a profound and collected happiness, are visible. There is great beauty in many of these fragments, and they bear a stronger impress of heart--they breathe more of nature and truth, than the poetry that belongs of right to that time. And thus day rolled on day, till it was now the eve before their bridals. Aram had deemed it prudent to tell Lester, that he had sold his annuity, and that he had applied to the Earl for the pension which we have seen he had been promised. As to his supposed relation--the illness he had created he suffered now to cease; and indeed the approaching ceremony gave him a graceful excuse for turning the conversation away form any topics that did not relate to Madeline, or to that event. It was the eve before their marriage; Aram and Madeline were walking along the valley that led to the house of the former. “How fortunate it is!” said Madeline, “that our future residence will be so near my father’s. I cannot tell you with what delight he looks forward to the pleasant circle we shall make. Indeed, I think he would scarce have consented to our wedding, if it had separated us from him.” Aram stopped, and plucked a flower. “Ah! indeed, indeed, Madeline! Yet in the course of the various changes of life, how more than probable it is that we shall be divided from him--that we shall leave this spot.” “It is possible, certainly; but not probable, is it, Eugene?” “Would it grieve thee irremediably, dearest, were it so?” rejoined Aram, evasively. “Irremediably! What could grieve me irremediably, that did not happen to you?” “Should, then, circumstances occur to induce us to leave this part of the country, for one yet more remote, you could submit cheerfully to the change?” “I should weep for my father--I should weep for Ellinor; but--” “But what?” “I should comfort myself in thinking that you would then be yet more to me than ever!” “Dearest!” “But why do you speak thus; only to try me? Ah! that is needless.”