“No, do not forgive me yet. I do not deserve a pardon; for even now, while I feel how ungrateful I was to believe, suspect, aught injurious and false to my preserver, my tears flow from happiness, not remorse. Oh!” she continued, with a simple fervour, unconscious, in her innocence and her generous emotions, of all the secrets she betrayed,--“thou knowest not how bitter it was to believe thee not more good, more pure, more sacred than all the world. And when I saw thee,--the wealthy, the noble, coming from thy palace to minister to the sufferings of the hovel,--when I heard those blessings of the poor breathed upon thy parting footsteps, I felt my very self exalted,--good in thy goodness, noble at least in those thoughts that did NOT wrong thee.” “And thinkest thou, Viola, that in a mere act of science there is so much virtue? The commonest leech will tend the sick for his fee. Are prayers and blessings a less reward than gold?” “And mine, then, are not worthless? Thou wilt accept of mine?” “Ah, Viola!” exclaimed Zanoni, with a sudden passion, that covered her face with blushes, “thou only, methinks, on all the earth, hast the power to wound or delight me!” He checked himself, and his face became grave and sad. “And this,” he added, in an altered tone, “because, if thou wouldst heed my counsels, methinks I could guide a guileless heart to a happy fate.” “Thy counsels! I will obey them all. Mould me to what thou wilt. In thine absence, I am as a child that fears every shadow in the dark; in thy presence, my soul expands, and the whole world seems calm with a celestial noonday. Do not deny to me that presence. I am fatherless and ignorant and alone!” Zanoni averted his face, and, after a moment’s silence, replied calmly,-- “Be it so. Sister, I will visit thee again!” CHAPTER 3.II. Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy. Shakespeare. Who so happy as Viola now! A dark load was lifted from her heart: her step seemed to tread on air; she would have sung for very delight as she went gayly home. It is such happiness to the pure to love,--but oh, such more than happiness to believe in the worth of the one beloved. Between them there might be human obstacles,--wealth, rank, man’s little world. But there was no longer that dark gulf which the imagination recoils to dwell on, and which separates forever soul from soul. He did not love her in return. Love her! But did she ask for love? Did she herself love? No; or she would never have been at once so humble and so bold. How merrily the ocean murmured in her ear; how radiant an aspect the commonest passer-by seemed to wear! She gained her home,--she looked upon the tree, glancing, with fantastic branches, in the sun. “Yes, brother mine!” she said, laughing in her joy, “like thee, I HAVE struggled to the light!”