And so saying, with a reverence the most graceful and profound, Don José stepped gaily from the room. Oh, heart of man, what strange wild tunes thou playest—what discords mingling with and marring thy harmonies—what harmonies mingling with and attuning thy discords! Courteous and rude, paltry and noble, magnanimous and base. A man can be all these in an hour, in a breath, the grandest and the foulest thing in nature! Now, that I have told at length the strange chances which brought Don José and I face to face so often, and in such curious relations to each other at Carthagena, I would fain pass quickly over the story of my after stay in that city. The history leads to but a sad ending. Often and often, since I left the Spanish main, in rough dark middle watches, as well as in soft and balmy nights, when my ship stole through a waveless and shining sea, have I flown in fancy back to those bright days of hope and love—often have I meditated and pondered, until the very image of Joseffa has seemed to waver in the air and smile upon me, until the well-remembered tones of her voice have sounded audibly in mine ear amid the dash of waves, or the rustle of the swelling canvas. Sometimes crouching alone in the rocking top, with straining ropes and surging sails around me, I have peopled that airy platform with the household of the old merchant’s dwelling at Carthagena. The señora Moranté has pleaded with me, urging me that I should abandon my heresies and become a true son of the ancient church—the prating Martin has told his visions of angels and of saints, and Joseffa—Joseffa, who wore the token of our love upon her heaving heart, has looked up with her dark eyes and her smiling lips into my face.