sick, and comforter of the sad, I should rather approve than chide thee. Forgive thee! Life, that ever needs forgiveness, has, for its first duty, to forgive."
"No, do not forgive me yet. I do not deserve a pardon; for even now, while I feel how ungrateful I was to believe, suspect, aught injurious and false to my preserver, my tears flow from happiness, not remorse. Oh!" she continued, with a simple fervour, unconscious, in her innocence and her generous emotions, of all the secrets she betrayed — "thou knowest not how bitter it was to believe thee not more good, more pure, more sacred than all the world. And when I saw thee — the wealthy, the noble, coming from thy palace to minister to the sufferings of the hovel — when I heard those blessings of the poor breathed upon thy parting footsteps, I felt my very self exalted — good in thy goodness — noble at least in those thoughts that did not wrong thee."
"And thinkest thou, Viola, that in a mere act of science there is so much virtue? The commonest leech will tend the sick for his fee. Are prayers and blessings a less reward than gold?"
"And mine, then, are not worthless? thou wilt accept of mine?"
"Ah, Viola!" exclaimed Zanoni, with a sudden passion, that covered her face with blushes, "thou only, methinks, on all the earth, hast the power to wound or delight me!" He checked himself, and his face became grave and sad. "And this," he added, in an altered tone, "because, if thou wouldst heed my coun-
