She was going far away! she was going from her parents! at this conviction a death-like sickness oppressed her very heart; she sunk back on her pillow, and believing the effort impossible, resigned herself to an excess of despair. The tears which she shed in floods, gradually relieved her feelings, and left them more obedient to her will: she repeated to herself the injunctions and arguments of her parents, she strove to fix a short period for the continuance of their separation, and having recourse to devotion, was enabled to quit her chamber with a tolerably serene countenance. It was yet early day; no one else was stirring, and Blanche rose thus soon, that she might take a parting look at the recent grave of Barémel. This playmate and guardian of her infant days, had died of old age, and was buried by Sebastian himself under a cluster of Palmito’s in his garden. No stone, with indecent resemblance to the monument of departed man, marked the place where he laid; but a circle of plaited reeds enclosed the little mound, and Blanche often stole there, to cover the bed of her favorite with flowers. She now moved lightly and timidly towards it, half-ashamed of a sensibility it was amiable to feel. O lovely season of youth! how sweet art thou to behold, with thy attendant graces of modesty, susceptibility, and self-distrust! The colours of the blooming flowers through which she passed painted the soft complexion of Blanche; hers was the complexion that announced a tender and intelligent heart, for it varied with every thought and every feeling; it was now flushed with strong emotion. She approached Barémel’s grave, and was going to throw herself upon it with a violence of sorrow pardonable at her early age, when she was checked by the apprehension of its being criminal.--“Yet he was so loving, and faithful!” she exclaimed, tears trembling in her eyes, “I think it cannot be wrong to remember him with affection.” Her innocent heart decided in the affirmative, and sitting down near the grassy heap, she strewed it with blossoms, and gave loose to her tears. Her mind was quickly thronged with long-past images: different epochs of holidays and festivals in which Barémel had constantly performed some amusing part; passed in review before her. She remembered his joyful bark, his supplicating whine, his watchful and loving looks, his unwearied attendance of her from infancy to youth, over all the romantic region that surrounded Cachoeira. “Poor Barémel! I can never see thee again!” she said, sighing: that apostrophe conveyed to her heart a salutary exhortation to take comfort on a far dearer subject.