“Listen,” repeated Isidora, “is there no truth in the voice that speaks to you in tones like these? Alas! if there be no truth in religion, there is none on earth! Passion itself evanishes into an illusion, unless it is hallowed by the consciousness of a God and of futurity. That sterility of the heart that forbids the growth of divine feeling, must be hostile also to every tender and generous sentiment. _He who is without a God must be without a heart!_ Oh, my love, will you not, as you bend over my grave, wish my last slumbers to have been soothed by sounds like these,--wish that they may whisper peace to your own? Promise me, at least, that you will lead your child to my tomb-stone,--that you will suffer it to read the inscription that tells I died in the faith of Christ, and the hope of immortality. Its tears will be powerful pleaders to you not to deny it the consolation that faith has given me in hours of suffering, and the hopes with which it will illuminate my parting hour. Oh promise me this at least, that you will suffer your child to visit my grave--that is all. Do not interrupt or distract the impression by sophistry or levity, or by that wild and withering eloquence that flashes from your lips, not to enlighten but to blast. You will not weep, but you will be silent,--leave Heaven and nature free to their work. The voice of God will speak to its heart, and my spirit, as it witnesses the conflict, will tremble though in paradise,--and, even in heaven, will feel an added joy, when it beholds the victory won. Promise me, then,--swear to me!” she added, with agonizing energy of tone and gesture. “Your child shall be a Christian!” said Melmoth. CHAPTER XXXV. --------------Oh, spare me, Grimbald! I will tempt hermits for thee in their cells, And virgins in their dreams. DRYDEN’S KING ARTHUR.