CHAPTER III.
"WALKING here yet, Edward ?" said Mrs.Markland, as she joined her husband in the spacious portico, after her return from the sick woman's cottage; and drawing her arm within his, she moved along by his side.

He did not respond to her remark, and she continued:-- "Italy never saw a sunset sky more brilliant.

Painter never threw on canvas colours so full of a living beauty.

Deep purple and lucent azure,--crimson and burnished gold! And that far-off island-cloud-- 'A Delos in the airy ocean--' seems it not a floating elysium for happy souls ?" "All lovely as Nature herself," answered Mr.Markland, abstractedly, as his eyes sought the western horizon, and for the first time since the sun went down, he noticed the golden glories of the occident.
"Ah! Edward! Edward!" said Mrs.Markland, chidingly, "You are not only in the world, but of the world." "Of the earth, earthy, did you mean to say, my gentle monitor ?" returned the husband, leaning towards his wife.
"Oh, no, no! I did not mean grovelling or sordid; and you know I did not." She spoke quickly and with mock resentment.
"Am I very worldly-minded ?" "I did not use the term." "You said I was not only in the world, but of it." "Well, and so you are; at least in a degree.

It is the habit of the world to close its eyes to the real it possesses, and aspire after an ideal good." "And do you find that defect in me, Agnes ?" "Where was thought just now, that your eyes were not able to bring intelligence to your mind of this glorious sunset ?" "Thought would soon become a jaded beast of burden, Agnes, if always full laden with the present, and the actually existent.