Miriam Monfort / A Novel

Fancy, with fact, is just one fact the more.
Let this old woe step on the stage again, Act itself o'er anew for men to judge; Not by the very sense and sight indeed, Which take at best imperfect cognizance. Since, how heart moves brain, and how both move hand, What mortal ever in entirety saw? Yet helping us to all we seem to hear, For, how else know we save by worth of word?
BROWNING, The Ring and the Book
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
549 & 551 BROADWAY.
1873.
This book is dedicated to the memory of one most dear, who saw it grow to completion with pleasure and approbation, during the last happy summer of a life since darkened by misfortune. Peace be his!
MONFORT HALL.
Not one friend have we here, not one true heart; We've nothing but ourselves.
There's a dark spirit walking in our house, And swiftly will the destiny close on us. It drove me hither from my calm asylum; It lures me forward—in a seraph's shape I see it near, I see it nearer floating— It draws, it pulls me with a godlike power, And, lo, the abyss! and thither am I moving; I have no power within me—but to move.
He is the only one we have to fear, he and his father.