The chief work of the “wise” among us seems to me to consist in the destruction of all the beautiful hopes and loves and beliefs of the earth; of all that since the beginning of time till now has consoled, or purified, or brought peace to the hearts of men.  Some day, perhaps, in the long-distant future, the voice of Nature may speak to us more clearly through the lips of a nobler and purer system of science than any we now know, and we may learn that Matter is not all in all, nor human love and desire given in vain; but that torn hearts may be healed and ruined lives perfected in a higher spiritual existence, where, “beyond these voices, there is peace.”

Meanwhile Noemi’s body rests in its quiet grave, and upon the faithful bosom lies the silver cross which her lover gave her.

She was one of those who could endure all things for love’s sake, but shame and falsehood broke her steadfast heart.  And it was the hand of her beloved which dealt the blow of which she died!

VI.  The Little Old Man’s Story

        “O love, I have loved you!  O my soul,
        I have lost you!”
                                —­Aurora Leigh

Chapter I.

“It is getting very dark now, and I have been sitting at my open bay window ever since sundown.  How fresh and sweet the evening air is, as it comes up from my little flower garden below, laden with the fragrance of June roses and almond blossom!  Ah, by the way, I will send over some more of those same roses to my opposite neighbor tomorrow morning,—­and there is a beautiful spray of white jasmin nodding in at the casement now, and only waiting to be gathered for him.  Poor old man!  He must be very lonely and quiet, lying there day after day in his dark little bed-chamber, with no companions save his books and his old housekeeper.  But then Dr. Peyton is with him very often, and Dr. Peyton is such a dear kind soul that he makes every one cheerful!  I think they have drawn down the blinds earlier than usual tonight at the little old gentleman’s.  Dr. Peyton says he always likes to sit up in his armchair when the day closes, and watch the twilight gathering over the blue range of the Malvern hills in the distance, and talk dreamy bits of poetry to himself the while, but this evening I noticed the blinds were pulled down almost directly after sunset.  And such a lovely sunset as it was tonight!  I never beheld anything more glorious!  What a wondrous glamour of molten mellow light it threw over all the meadows and cottage gardens!  It seemed to me as though the gates of heaven itself were unfolded to receive the returning sun into the golden land of the Hereafter!  Dear, dear, I shall get quite poetical in my old age!  This is not the first time I have caught myself stumbling unawares on the confines of romance!  Miss Lizzie, Miss Lizzie, you must not be fanciful!  Do you forget