what would it avail? It can only be of service to those wounds which would cure themselves without it. At this time the prince received a letter from Lord Nevil, replete with professions, which would have deeply affected Corinne: he mused for hours together on the propriety of showing it to her; but anticipating the violence of its effects on a creature so feeble, he forbore. Even while he was thus deliberating, another letter reached him, announcing his Lordship's departure for America. Castel Forte then decided on saying nothing to Corinne. Perhaps he erred: one of her greatest griefs was Nevil's silence; she scarce dared own it to herself: but though forever separated from him, one recollection, one regret, would have been very precious to her: as it was, he gave her, she thought, no opportunity of hearing his name, left her no excuse for breathing it. The sorrow, of which no one speaks to us, which gains no change from time, cuts deeper than reiterated blows; the good prince followed the usual maxim, which bids us do our utmost towards teaching a mourner to forget; but there is no oblivion for the imaginative: it were better to keep alive their memories, weary them of their tears, exhaust their sighs, and force them back upon themselves, that they may reconcentrate their own powers. BOOK XIX. OSWALD'S RETURN TO ITALY. CHAPTER I. Let us now return to the events which occurred in Scotland, after the sad fête at which Corinne made her self-sacrifice. Lord Nevil's servant carried his letters to the ball-room. Oswald retired to read them. He opened several which his agent had sent from London, little guessing that among them was one which would decide his fate; but when he beheld the writing of Corinne, and saw the ring, the words--"You are free!"--he felt at once the most cruel grief and the most furious irritation. He had not heard from her for two months, and now her silence was broken by this laconic decision. He remembered what Lady Edgarmond had said of her instability, and entered into all the step-dame's feeling against her; for he still loved enough to be unjust; forgetting how long he had renounced the idea of marrying her, how much Lucy had pleased him, he looked on himself as the blameless victim of an inconstant woman; perplexity and despair beset him; but over them both towered his proud soul, prompting him to rise superior to his wronger. This boasted pride rarely exists unless self-love predominates over affection. Had Nevil now valued Corinne as in their days at Rome and Naples, not all his "wrongs supposed" could have torn her from his heart.