flower he feels the change; his bloom is gone from his cheek; his cheek is wilted and pale.
From the lofty window of that beggarly room, what is it that Pierre is so intently eyeing? There is no street at his feet; like a profound black gulf the open area of the quadrangle gapes beneath him. But across it, and at the further end of the steep roof of the ancient church, there looms the gray and grand old tower; emblem to Pierre of an unshakable fortitude, which, deep-rooted in the heart of the earth, defied all the howls of the air.
There is a door in Pierre's room opposite the window of Pierre: and now a soft knock is heard in that direction, accompanied by gentle words, asking whether the speaker might enter.
'Yes, always, sweet Isabel,' answered Pierre, rising and approaching the door;—'here: let us drag out the old camp-bed for a sofa; come, sit down now, my sister, and let us fancy ourselves anywhere thou wilt.'
'Then, my brother, let us fancy ourselves in realms of everlasting twilight and peace, where no bright sun shall rise, because the black night is always its follower. Twilight and peace, my brother, twilight and peace!'
'It is twilight now, my sister; and surely, this part of the city at least seems still.'
'Twilight now, but night soon; then a brief sun, and then another long night. Peace now, but sleep and nothingness soon, and then hard work for thee, my brother, till the sweet twilight come again.'
'Let us light a candle, my sister; the evening is deepening.'
'For what light a candle, dear Pierre?—Sit close to me, my brother.'
He moved nearer to her, and stole one arm around her; her sweet head leaned against his breast; each felt the other's throbbing.
