"Alas! my poor Gabriella," he cried, looking down from the picture to me, with an expression of the tenderest compassion; "Alas, my flower-girl! how have I wilted your blooming youth! You are pale, my girl, and sad,--that bewitching smile no longer parts your glowing lips. Would to God I had never crossed your path of roses with my withering footsteps! Would to God I had never linked your young, confiding heart to mine, so blasted by suspicion, so consumed by jealousy's baleful fires! Yet, Heaven knows I meant to make you happy. I meant to watch over you as tenderly as the mother over her new-born infant,--as holily as the devotee over the shrine of the saint he adores. How faithless I have been to this guardianship of love, you know too well. I have been a madman, a monster,--you know I have,--worthy of eternal detestation. But you have not suffered alone. Remorse--unquenchable fire; remorse--undying worm, avenges every pang I have inflicted on you. Remorse goaded me to desperation,--desperation prompted the expiatory vow. It must be fulfilled, or I shall forfeit my self-respect, my honor, and truth. But I shall be better, stronger,--I feel I shall, after passing this stern ordeal. It will soon be over, and I have a confidence so firm that it has the strength of conviction, that in this lonely conflict with the powers of darkness I shall come off conqueror, through God's assisting angels." He spoke with fervor, and his countenance lighted up with enthusiasm. Bodily weakness and languor had disappeared, and his transparent cheek glowed with the excitement of his feelings. "If you are really thus supported by divine enthusiasm," I said, with an involuntary kindling of admiration, "perhaps I ought to submit in silence, where I cannot understand. Forgive me before I leave you, Ernest, this rash intrusion. We may forgive even our enemies." "Forgive, Gabriella! Oh! if you knew the flood of joy and rapture that for one moment deluged my soul! I dare not recall it. Forgive, O my God!" He turned away, covered his face with his left hand, and made a repelling gesture with the other. I understood the motion, and obeyed it. "Farewell, Ernest," said I, slowly retreating; "may angels minister to you and bear up your spirit on their wings of love!" I looked back, on the threshold, and met his glance then turned towards me. Had I been one of the angels I invoked, it could not have been more adoring. And thus we parted; and when I attempted to describe the interview to his mother, I wept and sobbed as if I had been paying a visit to his grave. And yet I was glad that I had been, glad that I had bridged the gulf that separated us, though but momentarily.