The young being dismissed the melancholy which, whilst she spoke, had rested on her countenance, and smiled. Her deep blue eyes gazed upon him, and, in the intoxication of the moment, he recollected not his own inquiry. But soon, thoughts of home and Emily, came into his mind, and checked others which were rising. He turned away from her, when she asked,-- “Would’st thou see the past?” “Yes,” eagerly returned Morden. “Oh! could I once more behold her whom an untimely fate bore from me!” She took from the table a golden cup, encircled with flowers, and throwing a liquid drop, which she had poured out on her hand, away in the distance; instantly, amidst music, with the bass of a profound calm, there arose before his eyes a strange scene. There were the haunts of his boyhood, the bower in the garden, and even the ivy-covered seat, on which was the plumed cap his mother’s hands had made; the gentle stream, with his book and fishing-rod lying on the bank; and last of all was himself, smiling, the actor in each. A pure mist arose before him, as in the bower he was placing the cap over his shining curls; bright eyes gleamed in it, and as it vanished, there stood his only sister! She appeared to be the gentler type of himself, and sweet was her beauty, though it was the beauty of Genius and Power. The mist descended, and hovered over them, as they were singing the lays of their own happiness, and shrouded both. It once more rolled away. There was seen a mourner, near a rose-scattered grave! The mourner was known to Morden long before he raised his features from the earth:--it was himself, at the grave of his sister! He started up from the couch, and fell at the feet of his mysterious companion, exclaiming,-- “Perpetuate the scene! Give me boyhood again; give me the lost and the beloved, and I’ll adore you,--aye, love you!” He arose calmly, after her lips had been pressed to his.