conscious of no joy, as I am, that has made this the only point of life worth living for?”

“It seems a sin,” replied Phoebe, trembling, “to think of joy at such a time!”

“Could you but know, Phoebe, how it was with me the hour before you came!” exclaimed the artist.

“A dark, cold, miserable hour! The presence of yonder dead man threw a great black shadow over everything; he made the universe, so far as my perception could reach, a scene of guilt and of retribution more dreadful than the guilt. The sense of it took away my youth. I never hoped to feel young again! The world looked strange, wild, evil, hostile; my past life, so lonesome and dreary; my future, a shapeless gloom, which I must mould into gloomy