Why should not Nature forget?
Why should I be fooled any more?
Is it not enough ?" Yet as he sat gazing, in the broad light of day, through the cottage window, across whose panes waved the little red bells of the common fuchsia, something that had nothing to do with science and yet _was_, seemed to linger and hover over the little garden--something from the very depths of loveliest folly.

Was it the refrain of an old song?
or the smell of withered rose leaves?
or was there indeed a kind of light such as never was on sea or shore?
Whatever it was, it was out of the midst of it the voice of the lady seemed to come--a clear musical voice in common speech, but now veiled and trembling, as if it brooded hearkening over the words it uttered: "I wrong the grave with fears untrue: Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
There must be wisdom with great Death: The dead shall look me through and through.
"Be near us when we climb or fall: Ye watch, like God, the rolling hours With larger other eyes than ours, To make allowance for us all." She ceased, and the silence was like that which follows sweet music.
"Ah! you think of your father!" he hazarded, and hoped indeed it was her father of whom she was thinking.
She made no answer.

He turned toward her in anxiety.

She was struggling with emotion.

The next instant the tears gushed into her eyes, while a smile seemed to struggle from her lips, and spread a little way over her face.