CHAPTER XII.
"Was Margaret glad, or sorry, that the cloud which hung over him had been dissipated?" Philip asked himself a thousand times; and at each self-interrogation he either felt his heart grow sick and faint with doubt, or quicken its beating with the joy of hope. There was something so sacred to him about this young girl's heart that he dared not ask her to lift the veil which hung about it and to unfold to him its virgin sanctuary. He silently offered up at that white shrine a love as pure as ever man was blessed with. He loved her as no man should ever love her again, with a love surpassing the love of self. He thanked God for that love, and was glad to think that so great a wealth of affection was his to lay reverently at her feet. Should she take it or leave it, he was always the richer for having it to give; and so he spoke only with his eyes and voice, which grew tender when she was near. Human lives have their ebb and flow, their storms and calms; and in the days which followed Feuardent's confession there was peace and quiet
