He neither sought distraction in evil and dissipated courses, nor death by any of those foolhardy and rash exploits which have far too often been glorified as "courage" or "pluck." He was graver, more reticent, more studious than of yore, and he found his reward, though few even of his intimate associates were aware of his abnormal gifts, or his superior knowledge. Such was the man who, still in the prime of life's best years, still with thirst unslaked for that one divine draught of love which, once at least, is offered to mortal lips, stood now in the soft December moonlight by the side of the woman he had worshipped for long in secret and in pain, and cried aloud in triumph to his heart, "At last happiness is mine!" His whole consciousness was pervaded with a sense of ecstasy that seemed to make all past pain and regret sink into utter insignificance. To stand there by her side, to drink in that wonderful beauty of face and form, was a joy that brought absolute forgetfulness of everything outside and apart from its new and magical acquisition. The world was forgotten. Even the possibility of a formal and imperative ceremonial by which his newly-won treasure must be secured to himself at last, barely flashed across his consciousness. He did not trouble himself to put it into words. He listened to the brief disjointed fragments of her speech--fragments which gave a dim picture of her life in these empty years of division. Now and then he spoke of himself. She listened. Once she turned to him with an impulse of tenderness strange in one so cold and self-possessed. "Ah!" she cried, softly, "I have made you suffer... but it was not my will... Oh, always believe that... And I will give you compensation.-- I can promise it--now." They seemed to him the sweetest words that ever fell from mortal lips, and no less sweet--though infinitely puzzling--was that exquisite humility with which she crowned the wonder of her self-surrender. Yet even as he heard his brain grew bewildered--his senses seemed to reel. Strange thoughts and shapes seemed to hover around him, and all the soft, dim space of night appeared a black and peopled horror. For a moment he felt that consciousness was forsaking him... that the shock of this unexpected joy was beyond his strength to bear. Dizzy and sick he swayed suddenly forwards.--A cool hand touched his brow--a voice reached his ear. With a mighty effort he shook off the paralysing weakness, and sank down by the side of his enchantress. "Is it a dream?" he murmured, vaguely; "shall I wake to-morrow and know you have mocked me again?" "Nay, my beloved," she whispered; "this--is no dream... Never again shall I mock you. I am but a woman now who loves. Earth holds no weaker thing." ------------------------------------------------------------------------