"What you tell us may be perfectly true, dearest Theodore," said the mother, after some reflection; "I must confess, however, that the additional figures, as you describe them, are so utterly repugnant to me, that I feel that I could never pray at my son's grave whilst the stone presented to me these strange fabulous forms, which horrify instead of elevating the mind." "They are symbols, mother, symbols of the most exquisite feelings, not foreign to your own when once you appreciate their meaning. Would you not have been affected had an Italian poet written a poem on Edward in his own language, even though it was not your own mother tongue?" "True; but then it would only be the expression which would seem strange to me; but here the idea of the representation that repels my holiest feelings, is so strong that I run away and feel that I can have nothing in common with it." "You speak harshly!" "I wonder that you think it harsh, dear Theodore, when it is the natural feeling of a woman and a Christian." "And you are in Rome, and see each day the wonders of bygone races, and enjoy the deeds of a thousand different spirits, each of which is different from your own, and yet can close your heart and turn away here--here, where a spirit for your sake has brought up out of his inmost soul all that it possessed." "I do not dispute his good-will. But, just because it touches me so nearly and is done for my sake, I feel more susceptible against what is wrong; the best intentions may be ungrateful to us when they have no respect for our own feelings." Theodore approached Mary, who had sat silent, at her work. "Mary," he said, "has Bianchi's effort offended you too?" "No;" she said gently; "but my mother is right. One cannot love what is strange to us--at least I cannot! A man possibly." He only partly understood her words, but he understood that she withdrew herself from him. An unspeakable feeling of agony seized him. It was not irritation--no little feeling of bitterness--which made him bow silently and leave them. He felt that he must collect himself--rouse up his crushed spirits. He would have talked wildly had he stayed. "It shall not be," he said to himself, when he reached the street. "She is right; we were and should have ever remained strangers to each other. I looked upon my longing to throw my whole heart upon her anew, as fruitless. No wonder that at last she became wearied of it! But it was horrible that it should happen just on this day when I had so sweetly deceived myself, so blissfully lied to my soul, and was more full of hoping than ever! It was horrible, yet wholesome. Now am I cured for ever of this presumptuous amiable self-deception!" Then he thought of Bianchi. "In pity." he said, "I should have spared him this; he will have something to throw into the Tiber again. No; he shall not. I will keep this monument for myself, to warn me in future how I trust mankind."