"We will discuss that point hereafter," replied Small; adding, as he noticed the growing paleness of his companion, "you are too much exhausted to proceed--you had better defer the remainder of your story to a future period." "No," replied Ranulph, swallowing a glass of water; "I am exhausted, yet I cannot rest--my blood is in a fever, which nothing will allay. I shall feel more easy when I have made the present communication. I am approaching the sequel of my narrative. You are now in possession of the story of my love--of the motive of my departure. You shall learn what was the occasion of my return. "I had wandered from city to city during my term of exile--consumed by hopeless passion--with little that could amuse _me_, though surrounded by a thousand objects of interest to others, and only rendering life endurable by severest study or most active exertion. My steps conducted me to Bordeaux;--there I made a long halt, enchanted by the beauty of the neighboring scenery. My fancy was smitten by the situation of a villa on the banks of the Garonne, within a few leagues of the city. It was an old château, with fine gardens bordering the blue waters of the river, and commanding a multitude of enchanting prospects. The house, which had in part gone to decay, was inhabited by an aged couple, who had formerly been servants to an English family, the members of which had thus provided for them on their return to their own country. I inquired the name. Conceive my astonishment to find that this château had been the residence of the Mowbrays. This intelligence decided me at once--I took up my abode in the house; and a new and unexpected source of solace and delight was opened to me, I traced the paths she had traced; occupied the room she had occupied; tended the flowers she had tended; and, on the golden summer evenings, would watch the rapid waters, tinged with all the glorious hues of sunset, sweeping past my feet, and think how _she_ had watched them. Her presence seemed to pervade the place. I was now comparatively happy, and, anxious to remain unmolested, wrote home that I was leaving Bordeaux for the Pyrenees, on my way to Spain." "That account arrived," observed Small. "One night," continued Ranulph--"'tis now the sixth since the occurrence I am about to relate--I was seated in a bower that overlooked the river. It had been a lovely evening--so lovely, that I lingered there, wrapped in the heavenly contemplation of its beauties. I watched each rosy tint reflected upon the surface of the rapid stream--now fading into yellow--now shining silvery white. I noticed the mystic mingling of twilight with darkness--of night with day, till the bright current on a sudden became a black mass of waters. I could scarcely discern a leaf--all was darkness--when lo! another change! The moon was up--a flood of light deluged all around--the stream was dancing again in reflected radiance, and I still lingering at its brink.