horseback. "Here he is!" cried Corinne; she had scarcely said the words ere he was beside her. She ran before him, and both, impatient to set forth, took their places in the carriage; yet Corinne paid a kind adieu to Castel Forte; but it was lost among the shouts of postilions, the neighing of horses, and all the bustle of departure--sometimes sad, sometimes intoxicating--just as fear or hope may be inspired by the new chances of coming destiny. BOOK XI. NAPLES, AND THE HERMITAGE OF ST. SALVADOR. CHAPTER I. Oswald was proud of bearing off his conquest; though usually disturbed in his enjoyments by reflections and regrets, he felt less so now: not that he was decided, but that he did not trouble himself to be so; he yielded to the course of events, hoping to be borne towards the haven of his wishes. They crossed the Campagna d'Albano, where still is shown the supposed tomb of the Horatii and Curatii.[1] They passed near the Lake of Nemi, and the sacred woods that surround it, where it is said Hippolitus was restored to life by Diana, who permitted no horses ever to enter it more, in remembrance of her young favorite's misfortune. Thus, in Italy, almost at every step, history and poetry add to the graces of nature, sweeten the memory of the past, and seem to preserve it in eternal youth. Oswald and Corinne next traversed the Pontine Marshes, fertile and pestilent at once, unenlivened by a single habitation. Squalid-looking men put to the horses, advising you to keep awake while passing through this air, as sleep is ever the herald of death. Buffaloes, of the most stupid ferocity, draw the plough, which imprudent cultivators sometimes employ upon this fatal land; and the most brilliant sunshine lights up the whole. Unwholesome swamps in the north are indicated by their frightful aspects; but in the most dangerous countries of the south nature deceives the traveller by her serenest welcome. If it be true that slumber is so perilous on these fens, the drowsiness their heat produces adds still more to our sense of the perfidy around us. Nevil watched constantly over Corinne. When she languidly closed her eyes, or leaned her head on the shoulder of Thérésina, he awakened her with inexhaustible terror; and, silent as he was by nature, now found inexhaustible topics for conversation, ever new, to prevent her submitting for an instant to this murderous sleep. May we not forgive the heart of woman for the despairing regret with which it clings to the days when she was beloved? when her existence was so essential to that of another, that its every instant was protected by his arm? What isolation must succeed that delicious time! Happy they whom the sacred link of marriage gently leads from love to friendship, without one cruel moment having torn their hearts.