moment. Her heart exulted, while it trembled, at his honorable
love,--so pure and lofty that it would accept nothing less than
perfection, nor miserably make itself contented with an earthlier
nature than he had dreamed of. She felt how much more precious was
such a sentiment than that meaner kind which would have borne with the
imperfection for her sake, and have been guilty of treason to holy
love by degrading its perfect idea to the level of the actual; and
with her whole spirit she prayed that, for a single moment, she might
satisfy his highest and deepest conception. Longer than one moment she
well knew it could not be; for his spirit was ever on the march, ever
ascending, and each instant required something that was beyond the
scope of the instant before.

The sound of her husband's footsteps aroused her. He bore a crystal
goblet containing a liquor colorless as water, but bright enough to be
the draught of immortality. Aylmer was pale; but it seemed rather the
consequence of a highly wrought state of mind and tension of spirit
than of fear or doubt.

"The concoction of the draught has been perfect," said he, in answer
to Georgiana's look. "Unless all my science have deceived me, it
cannot fail."

"Save on your account, my dearest Aylmer," observed his wife, "I might
wish to put off this birthmark of mortality by relinquishing mortality
itself in preference to any other mode. Life is but a sad possession
to those who have attained precisely the degree of moral advancement
at which I stand. Were I weaker and blinder, it might be happiness.
Were I stronger, it might be endured hopefully. But, being what I find
myself, methinks I am of all mortals the most fit to die."