Be gratified at the success of your art, and do not spoil that success by any absurd sentimentality.

Now wash your very ungainly hands and go to bed." Thus Jane to herself.
* * * * * And under the oaks, with soft turf beneath his feet, stood Garth Dalmain, the shy deer sleeping around unconscious of his presence; the planets above, hanging like lamps in the deep purple of the sky.

And he, also, soliloquised.
"I have found her," he said, in low tones of rapture, "the ideal woman, the crown of womanhood, the perfect mate for the spirit, soul, and body of the man who can win her .-- Jane! Jane! Ah, how blind I have been! To have known her for years, and yet not realised her to be this.

But she lifted the veil, and I passed in.

Ah grand, noble heart! She will never be able to draw the veil again between her soul and mine.