“‘I did not suppose it would interest you.’  I spoke timidly; and yet I owed nothing to the young fellow, and wanted nothing of him.

“‘You wrong us by saying that,’ replied Francis; ’do you think me ungrateful?  Do you fancy I have forgotten our pleasant walks in former days, and the long conversations we used to have?  You alone ever taught me anything, and it is to you I owe the principles that have guided me through life.  Many a day I have thought of you, and regretted you sincerely.  As regards Ellen, no one has ever filled your place with her; she plays to this day the same pieces of music you taught her, and follows all your directions with a fidelity that would touch you.’

“‘How are your father and mother, and how is your sister?’ I inquired, feeling more deeply moved than I can express.

“’My poor mother died three years ago.  It is Ellen who keeps house now.’

“‘Your brother-in-law lives with you, then?’

“‘My brother-in-law!’ replied Francis, with surprise; ’did you not know that he was on board the Atlantic, which was lost last year in the passage from Liverpool to New York?’

“I could find no words to reply.

“‘As to that,’ added Francis, with great composure—­’between you and me, he was no great loss.  My dear brother-in-law was not by any means what my father fancied he was when he gave him my sister as a wife.  The whole family has often regretted the marriage.  Ellen lived apart from her husband for many years before his death.’

“I nodded so as to express my interest in his communications, but I could not for worlds have uttered a syllable.

“‘You will come and see us soon, I hope,’ added Francis, without noticing my emotion.  ’We are still at the same place; but to make sure, here is my card.  Come, Mr. Warren—­name your own day to come and dine with us.  I promise you a hearty welcome.’

“I got off by promising to write the next day, and we parted.

“Fortunately my mind had lost its former liveliness.  The pendulum, far from being urged to unruly motion, continued to swing slowly in the narrow space where it had oscillated for so many years.  I said to myself that to renew my intimacy with the Gilmores would be to run the almost certain risk of reviving the sorrows and the disappointments of the past.  I was then calm and rational.  It would be madness in me, I felt, to aspire to the hand of a young, wealthy, and much admired widow.  To venture to see Ellen again was to incur the risk of seeing my reason once more wrecked, and the fatal chimera which had been the source of all my misery start into life again.  If we are to believe what poets say, love ennobles man and exalts him into a demigod.  It may be so, but it turns him likewise into a fool and a madman.  That was my case.  At any cost I was to guard against that fatal passion.  I argued seriously with myself, and I determined to let the past be, and to reject every opportunity of bringing it to life again.