And possibly it might be so.

Who can tell where happiness may come; or where, though an expected guest, it may never show its face?
Perhaps--shy, subtle thing--it had crept into this sad marriage bond, when the partners would have trembled at its presence as a crime.
"Farewell!" said Kenyon; "I go to Rome." "Farewell, true friend!" said Miriam.
"Farewell!" said Donatello too.

"May you be happy.

You have no guilt to make you shrink from happiness." At this moment it so chanced that all the three friends by one impulse glanced upward at the statue of Pope Julius; and there was the majestic figure stretching out the hand of benediction over them, and bending down upon this guilty and repentant pair its visage of grand benignity.
There is a singular effect oftentimes when, out of the midst of engrossing thought and deep absorption, we suddenly look up, and catch a glimpse of external objects.

We seem at such moments to look farther and deeper into them, than by any premeditated observation; it is as if they met our eyes alive, and with all their hidden meaning on the surface, but grew again inanimate and inscrutable the instant that they became aware of our glances.