Corinne's black curls and veil floating on the breeze gave her so picturesque an air, that, as she left the church, the common people recognised and followed her to her carriage with the warmest testimonials of respect. She sighed again, at parting from a race so ardent and so graceful in their expressions of esteem. Nor was this all. She had to endure the regrets of her friends They devised fêtes in order to delay her departure: their poetical tributes strove in a thousand ways to convince her that she ought to stay; and finally they accompanied her on horseback for twenty miles. She was extremely affected. Oswald cast down his eyes in confusion, reproaching himself for tearing her from so much delight, though he knew that an offer of remaining there would be more barbarous still. He appeared selfish in removing Corinne from Rome; yet he was not so; for the fear of afflicting her, by setting forth alone, had more weight with him than even the hope of retaining her presence. He knew not what he was about to do--saw nothing beyond Venice. He had written to inquire how soon his regiment would be actively employed in the war, and awaited a reply. Sometimes he thought of taking Corinne with him to England; yet instantly remembered that he should forever ruin her reputation by so doing, unless she were his wife; then he wished to soften the pangs of separation by a private marriage; but a moment afterwards gave up that plan also. "We can keep no secrets from the dead," he cried: "and what should I gain by making a mystery of a union prohibited by nothing but my worship of a tomb?" His mind, so weak in all that concerned his affections, was sadly agitated by contending sentiments. Corinne resigned herself to him, like a victim, exulting, amid her sorrows, in the sacrifices she made; while Oswald, responsible for the welfare of another, bound himself to her daily by new ties, without the power of yielding to them; and unhappy in his love as in his conscience, felt the presence of both but in their combats with each other. When the friends of Corinne took leave, they commended her earnestly to his care; congratulated him on the love of so eminent a woman; their every word sounding like mockery and upbraiding. She felt this, and hastily concluded the trying scene; and when, after turning from time to time to salute her, they were at last lost to her sight, she only said to her lover: "Oswald! I have now no one but you in the world!" How did he long to swear he would be hers! But frequent disappointments teach us to mistrust our own inclinations, and shrink even from the vows our hearts may prompt. Corinne read his thoughts, and delicately strove to fix his attention on the country through which they travelled. CHAPTER V.