"Corinne! dear Corinne!" he cried, "has then my absence pained you?"--"Yes," she replied, "you must have known it would. Why then inflict such pangs on me? Have I deserved to suffer thus for you?"--"No, no," he answered; "but if I cannot deem myself free--if my heart be filled by regret and fear, why should I involve you in its tortures? Why?"--"It is too late to ask," interrupted Corinne; "grief is already in my breast; bear with me!"--"Grief!" repeated Oswald; "in the midst of so brilliant a career, with so lively a genius!"--"Hold," she said, "you know me not. Of all my faculties, the most powerful is that of suffering. I was formed for happiness; my nature is confiding and animated; but sorrow excites me to a degree that threatens my reason, nay, my life. Be careful of me! My gay versatility serves me but in appearance: within my soul is an abyss of despair, which I can only avoid by preserving myself from love." Corinne spoke with an expression which vividly affected Oswald. "I will come to you to-morrow, rely on it, Corinne," he said. "Swear it!" she exclaimed, with an eagerness which she strove in vain to disguise. "I do," he answered, and departed. BOOK V. THE TOMBS, CHURCHES, AND PALACES. CHAPTER I. The next day Oswald and Corinne met in great embarrassment. She could no longer depend on the love she had inspired. He was dissatisfied with himself, and felt his own weakness rebel against the tyranny of his sentiments. Both sought to avoid the subject of their mutual affection. "To-day," said Corinne, "I proposed a somewhat solemn excursion, but one which will be sure to interest you; let us visit the last asylums of those who lived among the edifices we have seen in ruins."--"You have guessed what would most suit my present disposition," said Oswald, in so sad a tone, that she dared not speak again for some moments; then gaining courage from her desire to soothe and entertain him, she added: "You know, my Lord, that among the ancients, far from the sight of tombs discouraging the living, they were placed in the high road, to kindle emulation; the young were thus constantly reminded of the illustrious dead, who seemed silently to bid them imitate their glories."--"Ah!" sighed Oswald, "how I envy those whose regrets are unstained by remorse."--"Talk _you_ of remorse?" she cried; "then it is but one virtue the more, the scruples of a heart whose exalted delicacy----" He interrupted her. "Corinne! Corinne! do not approach that theme; in your blest land gloomy thoughts are exhaled by the brightness of heaven; but with us grief buries itself in the depths of the soul, and shatters its strength forever."--"You do me injustice," she replied. "I have told you that, capable as I am of enjoyment, I should suffer more than you, if----" she paused, and changed the subject; continuing, "My only wish, my Lord, is to divert your mind for awhile. I ask no more." The meekness of this reply touched Oswald's