_it_; but my friend withdraws _its_ rose before I have tasted it, and I leave mine on the water. Will you not take my rose,” said the beautiful suppliant, bending towards him. “I will,” said the stranger; and he took a flower from the cluster Immalee held out to him. It was a withered one. He snatched it, and hid it in his breast. “And will you go without a canoe across that dark sea?” said Immalee.--“We shall meet again, and meet in the _world of suffering_,” said the stranger.--“Thank you,--oh, thank you,” repeated Immalee, as she saw him plunge fearless amid the surf. The stranger answered only, “We shall meet again.” Twice, as he parted, he threw a glance at the beautiful and isolated being; a lingering of humanity trembled round his heart,--but he tore the withered rose from his bosom, and to the waved arm and angel-smile of Immalee, he answered, “We shall meet again.” CHAPTER XVI. Più non ho la dolce speranza. DIDONE. “Seven mornings and evenings Immalee paced the sands of her lonely isle, without seeing the stranger. She had still his promise to console her, that they should meet in the world of suffering; and this she repeated to herself as if it was full of hope and consolation. In this interval she tried to educate herself for her introduction into this world, and it was beautiful to see her attempting, from vegetable and animal analogies, to form some image of the incomprehensible destiny of man. In the shade she watched the withering flower.--“The blood that ran red through its veins yesterday is purple to-day, and will be black and dry to-morrow,” she said; “but it feels no pain--it dies patiently,--and the ranunculus and tulip near it are untouched by grief for their companion, or their colours would not be so resplendent. But can it be thus in the world that thinks? Could I see _him_ wither and die, without withering and dying along with him. Oh no! when that flower fades, I will be the dew that falls over him!” “She attempted to enlarge her comprehension, by observing the animal world. A young loxia had fallen dead from its pendent nest; and Immalee, looking into the aperture which that intelligent bird forms at the lower extremity of the nest to secure it from birds of prey, perceived the old ones with fire-flies in their small beaks, their young one lying dead before them. At this sight Immalee burst into tears.--“Ah! you cannot weep,” she said, “what an advantage I have over you! You eat, though your young one, your own one, is dead; but could I ever drink of the milk of the cocoa, if _he_ could no longer taste it? I begin to comprehend what he said--to think, then, is to suffer--and a world of thought must be a world of pain! But how delicious are these tears! Formerly I wept for pleasure--but there is a pain sweeter than pleasure, that I never felt till I beheld _him_. Oh! who would not think, to have the joy of tears?”