“AT my own quarters trouble unutterable awaited me. While I had amused myself with the more piquant society of Gulnare, my sad sweet love--my Medora--had fled from her solitary bower. I found my household gods shattered; and standing among their ruins, I was fain to confess that I had deserved the stroke. She was gone. The poor child had borne my absence so uncomplainingly that I had been almost inclined to resent a patience that seemed like coldness. Had she been more demonstrative--had her affection or her jealousy assumed a more dramatic and soul-stirring form--it might have been better for both of us. But the poor child locked all her feelings so closely in her breast, that she had of la…
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