Oswald ceased for some minutes. Corinne had listened so tremblingly that she too was silent, fearful of retarding the moment when he would renew his narrative.--"I should have been happy," he continued, "had my acquaintance with Madame d'Arbigny ended there--had I never more set foot in France. But fate, or, rather perhaps my own weakness, has poisoned my life forever. Yes, dearest love! even beside you. I passed a year in Scotland with my father: our mutual tenderness daily increased. I was admitted into the sanctuary of that heavenly spirit; and, in the friendship that united us, tasted all the consanguine sympathies whose mysterious links belong to our whole being. I received most affectionate letters from Raimond, recounting the difficulties he found in transferring his property, so as to join me; but his perseverance in that aim was unwearied. I loved him for it; but what friend could I compare with my father? The reverence I felt for him never checked my confidence. I put my faith in his words as in those of an oracle; and the unfortunate indecision of my character was suspended while he spoke. 'Heaven has formed us for a love of what is venerable,' says an English author. My father knew not, could not know, to what degree I loved him; and my fatal conduct might well have taught him to doubt whether I loved him at all. Yet he pitied me, while dying, for the grief his loss would inflict. Ah, Corinne! I draw near the recital of my woes; lend my courage thy support, for in truth I need it"--"My dear friend," she answered, "be it some solace that you unveil your nobly sensitive heart before the being who most admires and loves you in the world." Nevil proceeded: "He sent me to London on business; and I left him without one warning fear, though never to see him again. He was more endearing than ever in our last conversation: it is said that the souls of the just, like flowers, breathe their richest balms at the approach of night. He embraced me with tears, saying, that at his age all partings were solemn; but I believed his life like mine: our souls understood each other so well; and I was too young to think upon his age. The fears and the confidence of strong affection are alike inexplicable: he accompanied me to the door of that old hall which I have since beheld desert and devastated, like my own heart. I had been but a week in London, when I received the cruel letter of which I remember every word: 'Yesterday, the 10th of August, my brother was massacred at the Tuileries, while defending his king. I am proscribed, and forced to fly, to hide from my persecutors. Raimond had taken all my fortune, with his own, to settle in England. Have you yet received it? or know you whom he trusted to remit it? I had but one line from him, written when the chateau was attacked, bidding me only apply to you, and I should know all. If you could come hither and remove me, you might save my life. The English still travel France in safety; but