He went away a thousand times more hopelessly entangled in the meshes of fate than ever. He loved Helena with a passion that frightened him, so mysterious, so sudden, so exalted, so intense in its spiritual force was it. He who said that love, to be sincere, must be of slow growth, that man was a fool. As God said, unto the darkened world, "Let there be light" and there was light, so, unto many a slumbering heart, He has said, "Let there be love," and there was love--radiant, glorious, eternal, as is the splendor of the sun in the heavens. So had love sprung to life in the heart of Percy Durand--a love that the waters of death could not quench. "Never since my mother died," he whispered to his heart, "have I felt such an adoring affection bordering upon worship, as I feel for this girl. I could be any thing, do any thing, with her beside me--my guide, my friend, my mate, _my wife_." Wife! Yes, that was how he thought of Helena. All his old theories and cynical beliefs fell away from him, like dead leaves from a tree, in the presence of this beautiful new love. All his old life of license, and bachelor freedom, and secret companionship with a charming woman, seemed like the apples of Sodom to him now. He wanted a home where he could proudly welcome the whole world, if need be, to witness his happiness. He wanted a wife to entertain his friends--not a mistress to hide from them; and he wanted children to crown his life and perpetuate his name. These highest human instincts come knocking at the door of every man's heart, some time in his life. He may bolt the door with avarice or pride, curtain the windows with lawless passions, and block the entrance with worldly ambitions and pleasure. But the Creator who meant him to be a part of that holy earthly trinity,--father, mother, and child,--shall send a great unrest upon his soul; and despite all his precautions, a longing for the love of a pure woman and a little child shall take possession of his heart. That time had come to Percy: come as suddenly and unexpectedly as the greatest eras almost always come in human existence. He closed his eyes and indulged in wild dreams. He saw himself sitting before an open fire-place: a little distance from him, Helena, in flowing white robes, singing a golden-haired child to sleep upon her breast. Near by, a friend, some of his bachelor companions, perhaps, envying his happiness, as he looked upon the scene with admiring eyes. Then he sprang up and fairly groaned aloud. "I must guard myself in my letters," he said. "I will only write to Helena, as a suffering man might address a Sister of Charity. She shall never know how I love her, until my life is free from every fetter of sin and folly, and until I have made myself worthy by years of noble living." But you may as well talk of hiding the glory of the sunrise from the earth, as the fervor of a great passion from the object which inspired it.