"That was long ago; long ago; the dream of making men better. I felt it once,—tried to carry it into deeds. But the dream has long since past. I awakened from it many years ago. You see it is very pleasant to believe in the innate goodness of human nature, but attempt to carry it into action, and hark! do you not hear them, the very people, to whom yesterday you sacrificed your soul; hark! 'crucify him! crucify him!'"
He rose from the sofa, and the mirror reflected his majestic form, clad in the attire of Roderick Borgia, and his dark visage, stamped with genius on the giant forehead, and burning with the light of a giant soul in the lurid eyes. He was strangely agitated. His chest heaved beneath his masker's attire. There was an absent, dreamy look in his upraised eyes.
"I used to think of it, and dream over it, in my college days,—of that history in which 'Hosanna!' is shouted to-day, and palm branches strewn; and to-morrow,—the hall of Pilate, the crown of thorns, the march up Calvary, and the felon's cross! I used, I say, to think and dream over it in my college days. As I looked around the world and surveyed history, and found the same story everywhere: found that for bold imposture and giant humbug, in every age, the world had riches, honor, fame, while in return, for any attempt to make it better, it had the cry, 'crucify! crucify!' it had the scourge, the crown of thorns, and the felon's cross."
His voice swelled bold and deep through the silent room; as he uttered the last word, he raised his hand to his eyes, and for a moment was buried in the depth of his emotions. Esther, raising her eyes, regarded with looks of mingled admiration and awe, that forehead, upon which the veins stood forth bold and swollen,—the handwriting of the inward thought.
"The devil is a very great fool," he said, with a burst of laughter, "to give himself so much trouble about a world which is not worth the damning." And then turning to Esther, he said bitterly: "Do you ask me why I utterly despise mankind, and why I have lost all faith in good? In the course of a long and somewhat tumultuous life, I have found one thing true,—whenever from a pure impulse, I have advocated a noble thought, or done a good deed, I have been hunted like a dog, and whenever from mere egotism, I have defended a bad principle, or achieved an infamous deed, I have been worshiped as a demigod. Yes, it is not for one's bad deeds that we are blamed; it is for the good, that condemnation falls upon us."
He strode to the table, and filled a glass to the brim with blood-red Burgundy: "My beautiful Esther, your answer! Which do you choose? On the one hand want and persecution, on the other, position and power,—yes, on the one hand the life of the hunted pariah; on the other, sway of an absolute queen."
He drained the glass, without removing it from his lips; then advancing to the sofa, he took her hands within his own, and raised her gently to her feet.
"Esther, it is time to make your choice," he said, bending the force of his gaze upon that beautiful countenance: "which will you be? Your brother's slave, hunted at every step, and even doomed to be the pariah of the social world,—or, will you be the ward of Gabriel Godlike, the beautiful heiress of his West Indian friend, the unrivaled queen of life at the capital."
Esther felt his burning gaze, and said with downcast eyes,—her voice very low and faint—"And in return for this generous protection, what am I to give you?"
"Can you ask, my child?" he said, and pressed her hand within his own.—"You will be my friend, my counselor, my companion."