He could have loved her to the end of life; he could have died for her.

No leaven was mixed with his love, no base dross; it was refined as the purest silver.

It is only these exalted, ideal passions, which partake more of heaven's nature than of earth's, that _tell_ upon the heart when their end comes.

Terribly had it told upon Lionel Verner's.

In one hour he had learned that Sibylla was false to him, was about to become the wife of another.