But,"-- and her hand involuntarily tightened around mine,--"he has qualities fatal to the peace of those who love him,--fatal to his own happiness; suspicion haunts him like a dark shadow,--jealousy, like a serpent, lies coiled in his heart." "He has told me all this," I cried, with a sigh of relief,--"but I fear not,--my confidence shall be so entire, there shall be no room for suspicion,--my love so perfect it shall cast out jealousy." "So I once thought and reasoned in all the glow of youthful enthusiasm, but experience came with its icy touch, and enthusiasm, hope, joy, and love itself faded and died.

The dark passions of Ernest are hereditary,--they belong to the blood that flows in his veins,--they are part and lot of his existence,--they are the phantoms that haunted his father's path, and cast their chill shadows over the brief years of my married life.

The remembrance of what I have suffered myself, makes me tremble for her who places her happiness in my son's keeping.

A woman cannot be happy unless she is trusted." "Not if she is beloved!" I exclaimed.

"It seems to me that love should cover every fault, and jealousy be pardoned without an effort, since it is a proof of the strength and fervor of one's affection.