midnight
Is it the only satisfying good we can grasp at among the shifting shadows of our brief existence ? In its various phases and different workings , is it , after all , the brightest radiance known in the struggling darkness of our lives ? Sigurd had thought so , -- he had died to prove it . Philip thought so , -- when once more at home in England with his recovered `` treasure of the golden midnight '' he saw her , like a rose refreshed by rain , raise her bright head in renewed strength and beauty , with the old joyous lustre dancing in her eyes , and the smile of a perfect happiness like summer sunshine on her fair face . Lord Winsleigh thought so ; -- he was spending the winter in Rome with his wife and son , -- and there among the shadows of the Caesars , his long , social martyrdom ended , and he regained what he had once believed lost for ever -- his wife 's affection . Clara gentle , wistful , with the softening shadow of a great sorrow and a great repentance in her once too-brilliant eyes , was a very different Clara to the dashing `` beauty '' who had figured so conspicuously in London society . She clung to her husband with an almost timid eagerness as though she dreaded losing him -- and when he was not with her , she seemed to rely entirely on her son , whom she watched with a fond , almost melancholy pride , and who responded to her tenderness though proffered so late , with the full-hearted frankness of his impulsive , ardent nature .