“Wed me by this light,” cried Immalee, “and I will be yours for ever!” And her beautiful countenance reflected the full light of the glorious planet that rode bright through the cloudless heaven--and her white and naked arms, extended towards it, seemed like two pure attesting pledges of the union. “Wed me by this light,” she repeated, sinking on her knees, “and I will be yours for ever!” “As she spoke, the stranger approached, moved with what feelings no mortal thought can discover. At that moment a trifling phenomenon interfered to alter her destiny. A darkened cloud at that moment covered the moon--it seemed as if the departed storm collected in wrathful haste the last dark fold of its tremendous drapery, and was about to pass away for ever. “The eyes of the stranger flashed on Immalee the brightest rays of mingled fondness and ferocity. He pointed to the darkness,--“WED ME BY THIS LIGHT!” he exclaimed, “_and you shall be mine for ever and ever!_” Immalee, shuddering at the grasp in which he held her, and trying in vain to watch the expression of his countenance, yet felt enough of her danger to tear herself from him. “Farewell for ever!” exclaimed the stranger, as he rushed from her. “Immalee, exhausted by emotion and terror, had fallen senseless on the sands that filled the path to the ruined pagoda. He returned--he raised her in his arms--her long dark hair streamed over them like the drooping banners of a defeated army--her arms sunk down as if declining the support they seemed to implore--her cold and colourless cheek rested on his shoulder. “Is she dead?” he murmured. “Well, be it so--let her perish--let her be any thing _but mine_!” He flung his senseless burden on the sands, and departed--nor did he ever revisit the island. CHAPTER XIX. Que donne le monde aux siens plus souvent, Echo _Vent_. Que dois-je vaincre ici, sans jamais relacher, Echo _la chair_. Qui fit le cause des maux, qui me sont survenus, Echo _Venus_. Que faut dire après d’une telle infidelle, Echo _Fi d’elle_. _MAGDALENIADE, by Father Pierre de St Louis._ “Three years had elapsed since the parting of Immalee and the stranger, when one evening the attention of some Spanish gentlemen, who were walking in a public place in Madrid, was arrested by a figure that passed them, habited in the dress of the country, (only without a sword), and walking very slowly. They stopt by a kind of simultaneous movement, and seemed to ask each other, with silent looks, what had been the cause of the impression this person’s appearance had made on them. There was nothing remarkable in his figure,--his demeanour was quiet; it was the singular expression of his countenance which had struck them with a sensation they could neither define or account for.