Thegreaterpartofthefearfulnighthadwornaway，andshewhohadbeendead，onceagainstirredandnowmorevigorouslythanhitherto，althougharousingfromadissolutionmoreappallinginitsutterhopelessnessthanany。Ihadlongceasedtostruggleortomove，andremainedsittingrigidlyupontheottoman，ahelplesspreytoawhirlofviolentemotions，ofwhichextremeawewasperhapstheleastterrible，theleastconsuming。Thecorpse，Irepeat，stirred，andnowmorevigorouslythanbefore。Thehuesoflifeflushedupwithunwontedenergyintothecountenancethelimbsrelaxedand，savethattheeyelidswereyetpressedheavilytogether，andthatthebandagesanddraperiesofthegravestillimpartedtheircharnelcharactertothefigure，ImighthavedreamedthatRowenahadindeedshakenoff，utterly，thefettersofDeath。Butifthisideawasnot，eventhen，altogetheradopted，Icouldatleastdoubtnolonger，when，arisingfromthebed，tottering，withfeeblesteps，withclosedeyes，andwiththemannerofonebewilderedinadream，thethingthatwasenshroudedadvancedboldlyandpalpablyintothemiddleoftheapartment。
ItremblednotIstirrednotforacrowdofunutterablefanciesconnectedwiththeair，thestature，thedemeanorofthefigure，rushinghurriedlythroughmybrain，hadparalyzedhadchilledmeintostone。Istirrednotbutgazedupontheapparition。Therewasamaddisorderinmythoughtsatumultunappeasable。Couldit，indeed，bethelivingRowenawhoconfrontedme？CoulditindeedbeRowenaatallthefair-haired，theblue-eyedLadyRowenaTrevanionofTremaine？Why，whyshouldIdoubtit？ThebandagelayheavilyaboutthemouthbutthenmightitnotbethemouthofthebreathingLadyofTremaine？Andthecheeks-thereweretherosesasinhernoonoflifeyes，thesemightindeedbethefaircheeksofthelivingLadyofTremaine。Andthechin，withitsdimples，asinhealth，mightitnotbehers？buthadshethengrowntallersincehermalady？Whatinexpressiblemadnessseizedmewiththatthought？
Onebound，andIhadreachedherfeet！Shrinkingfrommytouch，sheletfallfromherhead，unloosened，theghastlycerementswhichhadconfinedit，andtherestreamedforth，intotherushingatmosphereofthechamber，hugemassesoflonganddishevelledhair；itwasblackerthantheravenwingsofthemidnight！Andnowslowlyopenedtheeyesofthefigurewhichstoodbeforeme。“Herethen，atleast。”I
shriekedaloud，“canInevercanIneverbemistakenthesearethefull，andtheblack，andthewildeyesofmylostloveoftheladyofthe
Itself，byitself，solely，oneeverlasting，andsingle。
WITHafeelingofdeepyetmostsingularaffectionIregardedmyfriendMorella。Thrownbyaccidentintohersocietymanyyearsago，mysoulfromourfirstmeeting，burnedwithfiresithadneverbeforeknown；butthefireswerenotofEros，andbitterandtormentingtomyspiritwasthegradualconvictionthatIcouldinnomannerdefinetheirunusualmeaningorregulatetheirvagueintensity。Yetwemet；
andfateboundustogetheratthealtar，andIneverspokeofpassionnorthoughtoflove。She，however，shunnedsociety，and，attachingherselftomealonerenderedmehappy。Itisahappinesstowonder；
itisahappinesstodream。
Morella’seruditionwasprofound。AsIhopetolive，hertalentswereofnocommonorderherpowersofmindweregigantic。Ifeltthis，and，inmanymatters，becameherpupil。Isoon，however，foundthat，perhapsonaccountofherPresburgeducation，sheplacedbeforemeanumberofthosemysticalwritingswhichareusuallyconsideredthemeredrossoftheearlyGermanliterature。These，forwhatreasonI
couldnotimagine，wereherfavouriteandconstantstudyandthatinprocessoftimetheybecamemyown，shouldbeattributedtothesimplebuteffectualinfluenceofhabitandexample。
Inallthis，ifIerrnot，myreasonhadlittletodo。Myconvictions，orIforgetmyself，wereinnomanneracteduponbytheideal，norwasanytinctureofthemysticismwhichIreadtobediscovered，unlessIamgreatlymistaken，eitherinmydeedsorinmythoughts。Persuadedofthis，Iabandonedmyselfimplicitlytotheguidanceofmywife，andenteredwithanunflinchingheartintotheintricaciesofherstudies。Andthenthen，whenporingoverforbiddenpages，Ifeltaforbiddenspiritenkindlingwithinme
wouldMorellaplacehercoldhanduponmyown，andrakeupfromtheashesofadeadphilosophysomelow，singularwords，whosestrangemeaningburnedthemselvesinuponmymemory。Andthen，hourafterhour，wouldIlingerbyherside，anddwelluponthemusicofhervoice，untilatlengthitsmelodywastaintedwithterror，andtherefellashadowuponmysoul，andIgrewpale，andshudderedinwardlyatthosetoounearthlytones。Andthus，joysuddenlyfadedintohorror，andthemostbeautifulbecamethemosthideous，asHinnonbecameGe-Henna。
Itisunnecessarytostatetheexactcharacterofthosedisquisitionswhich，growingoutofthevolumesIhavementioned，formed，forsolongatime，almostthesoleconversationofMorellaandmyself。Bythelearnedinwhatmightbetermedtheologicalmoralitytheywillbereadilyconceived，andbytheunlearnedtheywould，atallevents，belittleunderstood。ThewildPantheismofFichte；themodifiedPaliggenediaofthePythagoreans；and，aboveall，thedoctrinesofIdentityasurgedbySchelling，weregenerallythepointsofdiscussionpresentingthemostofbeautytotheimaginativeMorella。
Thatidentitywhichistermedpersonal，Mr。Locke，Ithink，trulydefinestoconsistinthesanenessofrationalbeing。Andsincebypersonweunderstandanintelligentessencehavingreason，andsincethereisaconsciousnesswhichalwaysaccompaniesthinking，itisthiswhichmakesusalltobethatwhichwecallourselves，therebydistinguishingusfromotherbeingsthatthink，andgivingusourpersonalidentity。Buttheprincipiumindivduationis，thenotionofthatidentitywhichatdeathisorisnotlostforever，wastome，atalltimes，aconsiderationofintenseinterest；notmorefromtheperplexingandexcitingnatureofitsconsequences，thanfromthemarkedandagitatedmannerinwhichMorellamentionedthem。
But，indeed，thetimehadnowarrivedwhenthemysteryofmywife’smanneroppressedmeasaspell。Icouldnolongerbearthetouchofherwanfingers，northelowtoneofhermusicallanguage，northelustreofhermelancholyeyes。Andsheknewallthis，butdidnotupbraid；sheseemedconsciousofmyweaknessormyfolly，and，smiling，calleditfate。Sheseemedalsoconsciousofacause，tomeunknown，forthegradualalienationofmyregard；butshegavemenohintortokenofitsnature。Yetwasshewoman，andpinedawaydaily。
Intimethecrimsonspotsettledsteadilyuponthecheek，andtheblueveinsuponthepaleforeheadbecameprominent；andoneinstantmynaturemeltedintopity，butin，nextImettheglanceofhermeaningeyes，andthenmysoulsickenedandbecamegiddywiththegiddinessofonewhogazesdownwardintosomedrearyandunfathomableabyss。
ShallIthensaythatIlongedwithanearnestandconsumingdesireforthemomentofMorella’sdecease？Idid；butthefragilespiritclungtoitstenementofclayformanydays，formanyweeksandirksomemonths，untilmytorturednervesobtainedthemasteryovermymind，andIgrewfuriousthroughdelay，and，withtheheartofafiend，cursedthedaysandthehoursandthebittermoments，whichseemedtolengthenandlengthenashergentlelifedeclined，likeshadowsinthedyingoftheday。
Butoneautumnalevening，whenthewindslaystillinheaven，Morellacalledmetoherbedside。Therewasadimmistoveralltheearth，andawarmglowuponthewaters，andamidtherichOctoberleavesoftheforest，arainbowfromthefirmamenthadsurelyfallen。
“Itisadayofdays。”shesaid，asIapproached；“adayofalldayseithertoliveordie。Itisafairdayforthesonsofearthandlifeah，morefairforthedaughtersofheavenanddeath！”
Ikissedherforehead，andshecontinued：
“Iamdying，yetshallIlive。”
“Morella！”
“Thedayshaveneverbeenwhenthoucouldstlovemebutherwhominlifethoudidstabhor，indeaththoushaltadore。”
“Morella！”
“IrepeatIamdying。Butwithinmeisapledgeofthataffection
ah，howlittle！whichthoudidstfeelforme，Morella。Andwhenmyspiritdepartsshallthechildlivethychildandmine，Morella’s。
Butthydaysshallbedaysofsorrowthatsorrowwhichisthemostlastingofimpressions，asthecypressisthemostenduringoftrees。
Forthehoursofthyhappinessareoverandjoyisnotgatheredtwiceinalife，astherosesofPaestumtwiceinayear。Thoushaltnolonger，then，playtheTeianwithtime，but，beingignorantofthemyrtleandthevine，thoushaltbearaboutwiththeethyshroudontheearth，asdotheMosleminatMecca。”
“Morella！”Icried，“Morella！howknowestthouthis？”butsheturnedawayherfaceuponthepillowandaslighttremorcomingoverherlimbs，shethusdied，andIheardhervoicenomore。
Yet，asshehadforetold，herchild，towhichindyingshehadgivenbirth，whichbreathednotuntilthemotherbreathednomore，herchild，adaughter，lived。Andshegrewstrangelyinstatureandintellect，andwastheperfectresemblanceofherwhohaddeparted，andIlovedherwithalovemoreferventthanIhadbelieveditpossibletofeelforanydenizenofearth。
But，erelongtheheavenofthispureaffectionbecamedarkened，andgloom，andhorror，andgriefsweptoveritinclouds。Isaidthechildgrewstrangelyinstatureandintelligence。Strange，indeed，washerrapidincreaseinbodilysize，butterrible，oh！terriblewerethetumultuousthoughtswhichcrowdeduponmewhilewatchingthedevelopmentofhermentalbeing。Coulditbeotherwise，whenIdailydiscoveredintheconceptionsofthechildtheadultpowersandfacultiesofthewoman？whenthelessonsofexperiencefellfromthelipsofinfancy？andwhenthewisdomorthepassionsofmaturityI
foundhourlygleamingfromitsfullandspeculativeeye？When，Isay，allthisbeeameevidenttomyappalledsenses，whenIcouldnolongerhideitfrommysoul，northrowitofffromthoseperceptionswhichtrembledtoreceiveit，isittobewonderedatthatsuspicions，ofanaturefearfulandexciting，creptinuponmyspirit，orthatmythoughtsfellbackaghastuponthewildtalesandthrillingtheoriesoftheentombedMorella？Isnatchedfromthescrutinyoftheworldabeingwhomdestinycompelledmetoadore，andintherigorousseclusionofmyhome，watchedwithanagonizinganxietyoverallwhichconcernedthebeloved。
Andasyearsrolledaway，andIgazeddayafterdayuponherholy，andmild，andeloquentface，andpouredoverhermaturingform，dayafterdaydidIdiscovernewpointsofresemblanceinthechildtohermother，themelancholyandthedead。Andhourlygrewdarkertheseshadowsofsimilitude，andmorefull，andmoredefinite，andmoreperplexing，andmorehideouslyterribleintheiraspect。Forthathersmilewaslikehermother’sIcouldbear；butthenIshudderedatitstooperfectidentity，thathereyeswerelikeMorella’sIcouldendure；butthenthey，too，oftenlookeddownintothedepthsofmysoulwithMorella’sownintenseandbewilderingmeaning。Andinthecontourofthehighforehead，andintheringletsofthesilkenhair，andinthewanfingerswhichburiedthemselvestherein，andinthesadmusicaltonesofherspeech，andabovealloh，aboveall，inthephrasesandexpressionsofthedeadonthelipsofthelovedandtheliving，Ifoundfoodforconsumingthoughtandhorror，forawormthatwouldnotdie。
Thuspassedawaytwolustraofherlife，andasyetmydaughterremainednamelessupontheearth。“Mychild。”and“mylove。”werethedesignationsusuallypromptedbyafather’saffection，andtherigidseclusionofherdaysprecludedallotherintercourse。Morella’snamediedwithheratherdeath。OfthemotherIhadneverspokentothedaughter，itwasimpossibletospeak。Indeed，duringthebriefperiodofherexistence，thelatterhadreceivednoimpressionsfromtheoutwardworld，savesuchasmighthavebeenaffordedbythenarrowlimitsofherprivacy。Butatlengththeceremonyofbaptismpresentedtomymind，initsunnervedandagitatedcondition，apresentdeliverancefromtheterrorsofmydestiny。AndatthebaptismalfontIhesitatedforaname。Andmanytitlesofthewiseandbeautiful，ofoldandmoderntimes，ofmyownandforeignlands，camethrongingtomylips，withmany，manyfairtitlesofthegentle，andthehappy，andthegood。Whatpromptedmethentodisturbthememoryoftheburieddead？Whatdemonurgedmetobreathethatsound，whichinitsveryrecollectionwaswonttomakeebbthepurplebloodintorrentsfromthetemplestotheheart？Whatfiendspokefromtherecessesofmysoul，whenamidthosedimaisles，andinthesilenceofthenight，IwhisperedwithintheearsoftheholymanthesyllablesMorella？Whatmorethanfiendconvulsedthefeaturesofmychild，andoverspreadthemwithhuesofdeath，asstartingatthatscarcelyaudiblesound，sheturnedherglassyeyesfromtheearthtoheaven，andfallingprostrateontheblackslabsofourancestralvault，responded“Iamhere！”
Distinct，coldly，calmlydistinct，fellthosefewsimplesoundswithinmyear，andthencelikemoltenleadrolledhissinglyintomybrain。Yearsyearsmaypassaway，butthememoryofthatepochnever。NorwasIindeedignorantoftheflowersandthevinebutthehemlockandthecypressovershadowedmenightandday。AndIkeptnoreckoningoftimeorplace，andthestarsofmyfatefadedfromheaven，andthereforetheearthgrewdark，anditsfigurespassedbymelikeflittingshadows，andamongthemallIbeheldonly
Morella。Thewindsofthefirmamentbreathedbutonesoundwithinmyears，andtheripplesupontheseamurmuredevermoreMorella。Butshedied；andwithmyownhandsIborehertothetomb；andIlaughedwithalongandbitterlaughasIfoundnotracesofthefirstinthechannelwhereIlaidthesecond。Morella。