"Ah, I may now confess with joy and pride that my love for you will be, as it were, a shield of defence from all snares and temptations,--a guardian angel that will preserve me from all that could assail me in body or mind. Then I shall write to you daily. Pardon me this weakness, 'tis the only one I shall allow myself; you, my lord, will also write to me occasionally, if but to give me intelligence of her whom once, at least, I called my daughter," said Clemence, melting into tears at the thoughts of all she was giving up, "and who will ever be fondly cherished in my heart as such; and when advancing years shall permit me fearlessly and openly to avow the regard which binds us to each other, then, my lord, I vow by your daughter that, if you desire it, I will establish myself in Germany, in the same city you yourself inhabit, never again to quit you, but so to end a life which might have been passed more agreeably, as far as our earthly feelings were concerned, but which shall, at least, have been spent in the practice of every noble and virtuous feeling." "My lord," exclaimed Murphy, entering with eagerness, "she whom Heaven has restored to you has regained her senses. Her first word upon recovering consciousness was to call for you. 'My father!--my beloved father!' she cried, 'oh, do not take me from him!' Come to her, my lord, she is all impatience again to behold you!" * * * * * A few minutes after this Madame d'Harville quitted the prince's hotel, while the latter repaired in all haste to the house of the Countess Macgregor, accompanied by Murphy, Baron de Grauen, and an aide-de-camp. CHAPTER VII. THE MARRIAGE. From the moment in which she had learnt from Rodolph the violent death of Fleur-de-Marie, Sarah had felt crushed and borne down by a disclosure so fatal to all her ambitious hopes. Tortured equally by a too late repentance, she had fallen into a fearful nervous attack, attended even by delirium; her partially healed wound opened afresh, and a long continuation of fainting fits gave rise to the supposition of her death. Yet still the natural strength of her constitution sustained her even amid this severe shock, and life seemed to struggle vigorously against death. Seated in an easy chair, the better to relieve herself from the sense of suffocation which oppressed her, Sarah had remained for some time plunged in bitter reflections, almost amounting to regrets, that she had been permitted to escape from almost certain death. Suddenly the door of the invalid's chamber opened, and Thomas Seyton entered, evidently struggling to restrain some powerful emotion. Hastily waving his hand for the countess's attendants to retire, he approached his sister, who seemed scarcely to perceive her brother's presence. "How are you now?" inquired he.