Outrage me not, then, by one hope of happiness, except in prayer: let our thoughts meet in heaven! Yet when I feel myself about to die, perhaps I will be taken somewhere whence I may behold you pass. Assuredly, when my failing eyes can see no more, your image will be with me; but might not a recent review of your features render it more distinct? Deities of old were never present at the hour of death, so I forbid you mine; but I should like to see you perfectly when Oswald, Oswald! behold how weak I am, when abandoned to your recollection! Why has not Lucy sought me? Though she is your wife, she is still my sister. I have some kind and even generous things to tell her. And your child--I ought not to meet you; but you are surrounded by my family. Do they disown me still? or fear ye that poor little Juliet would be scared at seeing me? Ghost as I look, I yet could smile upon your daughter. Adieu, my Lord, adieu! Remember that I might call you brother. At least you will mourn for me externally, and, as a kinsman, follow my remains to Rome: let them be borne by the road where my car passed; and pause upon the spot where you restored my crown. Yet no, I am wrong, Oswald: I could exact nothing that could afflict you, only one tear, and sometimes a fond look towards the heaven where I shall soon await you." CHAPTER IV. Many days elapsed ere Oswald could regain his composure: he avoided the presence of his wife, and passed whole hours on the banks of the river that separated him from Corinne; often tempted to plunge amid its waves, that they might bear his body to the abode he never must enter living. Amazed as he was at Corinne's wish to see her sister, he longed to gratify it; yet how introduce the subject? He saw that Lucy was hurt by his distress, and hoped that she would question him; but she forbore, merely expressing a desire to visit Rome or Naples: he always begged a brief delay, and Lucy, with cold dignity, was silent.