behest, but Heaven's directing voice; what is our
destiny, but the deed which we perceive may not be
left undone."

"Rash man, forbear;" pronounced Amanda, her
face darkening with displeasure; "you counsel me to
evil. Though I would esteem you as I would some
annunciating angel, beyond impeachment of veracity,
and bent on a generous errand, you seem as a fallen
spirit now; tempting me, not enlightening. No,
Montigny, no. Shall I deceive my guardian so kind,
shall I defraud your house, your father, you? I,
who have no fortune, nor -- as is your lot -- upon my
name, neither the rime and hoar of silver, new
renown, nor golden rust of brown antiquity, -- the
dust of ages in heroic deeds, lying on your escutcheon,
dyeing it as the dust that dapples the bright insect's
wings; -- shall I, I say, come and lie like to a bar
sinister across it? for what else should I be con-
sidered by your indignant friends, except, indeed, a
shadow on your brightness, a shame across your
honour?" and she hung her head in despairing
sadness, whilst Montigny thus replied:

"Oh, shame on me, to hear you so self-slandered!
Friends! mistaken friends. And what although my
father and the world esteemed you my inferior; what
were their estimation unto me; and, compared with
you, what is the value of heraldic honours and
traditionary glory heaped upon the dead, which is,
in truth, too often only as the phosphorescent glim-
mer that hangs upon decay: what are these gauds
to me, who count you to be far above the worth of
monumental effigy, or marble mask, my living love;
whom I will set, -- not in the tomb of cold, pale

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