"
How beautiful, great, and pure goodness is! It paints heaven on the face
that has it; it wakens the sleeping souls that meet it.
At the bottom of Margaret Woffington's heart lay a soul, unknown to the
world, scarce known to herself--a heavenly harp, on which ill airs of
passion had been played--but still it was there, in tune with all that is
true, pure, really great and good. And now the flush that a great heart
sends to the brow, to herald great actions, came to her cheek and brow.
"Humble!" she cried. "Such as you are the diamonds of our race. You angel
of truth and goodness, you have conquered!"
"Oh, yes! yes! Thank God, yes!"
"What a fiend I must be could I injure you! The poor heart we have both
overrated shall be yours again, and yours for ever. In my hands it is
painted glass; in the luster of a love like yours it may become a
priceless jewel." She turned her head away and pondered a moment, then
suddenly offered to Mrs. Vane her hand with nobleness and majesty; "Can
you trust me?" The actress too was divinely beautiful now, for her good
angel shone through her.
"I could trust you with my life!" was the reply.
"Ah! if I might call you friend, dear lady, what would I not
do--suffer--resign--to be worthy that title!"
"No, not friend!" cried the warm, innocent Mabel; "sister! I will call
you sister. I have no sister.
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