to thee, as I shall my latest sigh. What, then, is my asylum if thou leavest me? The arts will retrace thine image, music thy voice. Genius, which formerly entranced my spirit, is nothing now but love, and unshared with thee must perish. Oh, God!" she added, raising her eyes to heaven, "deign but to hear me! Thou art not merciless to our noblest sorrows; take back my life when he has ceased to love: it will be then but suffering. He carries with him all my highest, softest feelings: if he permits the fire shrined in his breast to be extinguished, wherever I may be, my life, too, will be quenched. Great God! thou didst not frame me to outlive my better self, and what should I become in ceasing to esteem him? He ought to love me ever--I feel he ought--my affection should command his! Oh! heavenly Father! death or his love!" As she concluded this prayer she turned to Oswald, and beheld him prostrated before her in strong convulsions: he repelled her cares, as if his reason were entirely lost. Corinne gently pressed his hand, repeating to him all he had said to her, assuring him that she relied on his return. Her words somewhat composed him; yet the nearer the hour of separation drew, the more impossible it seemed to part. "Why," he said, "should we not go to the altar and at once take our eternal oaths?" All the firmness, all the pride of Corinne, revived at these words. Oswald had told her that a woman's grief once before subdued him, but his love had chilled with every sacrifice he made. After a moment's silence, she replied: "No, you must see your country and your friends before you adopt this resolution. I owe it now, my Lord, to the pangs of parting, and I will not accept it." He took her hand. "At least," he said, "I swear again my faith is bound to this ring; while you preserve it, never shall another attain a right over my actions; if you at last reject me, and send it back----"--"Cease," she interposed, "cease to talk of a fear you never felt; I cannot be the first to break our sacred tie, and almost blush to assure you of what you but too well know already." Meanwhile, the time advanced. Corinne turned pale at every sound. Nevil remained in speechless grief beside her; at last a light gleamed through the window, and the black, hearse-like gondola stopped before the door. Corinne uttered a scream of fright, and fell into Oswald's arms, crying: "They are here--adieu--leave me--all is over!"--"Oh God, oh my father!" he exclaimed; "what do ye exact of me?" He embraced and wept over his beloved, who continued: "Go! it must be done--go!"--"Let me call Thérésina," he said; "I cannot leave you thus alone."--"Alone!" she repeated: "shall I not be alone till you return?"--"I cannot quit this room; it is impossible," he articulated, with desperation.--"Well," said Corinne, "then it is I must give the signal. I will open the door; but when I have done so, spare me a few short instants."--"Yes, yes," he murmured, "let us be still together,