Wolfstein rushed towards her; he threw himself at her feet and exclaimed, “If ever, for one instant, my soul was alienated from thee--if ever it swerved from the affection which I have sworn to thee--may the red right hand of God instantaneously dash me beneath the lowest abyss of hell! O Megalena! is it as a victim of groundless jealousy that I have immolated myself at the altar of thy perfections? Have I only raised myself to this summit of happiness to feel more deeply the fall of which thou art the cause? O Megalena! if yet one spark of thy former love lingers in thy breast, oh! believe one who swears that he must be thine even till the particles which compose the soul devoted to thee, become annihilated.”--He paused. Megalena heard his wildly enthusiastic expressions in sullen silence. She looked upon him with a stern and severe gaze:--he yet lay at her feet, and, hiding his face upon the earth, groaned deeply. “What proof,” exclaimed Megalena, impatiently, “what proof will Wolfstein, the deceiver, bring to satisfy me that his love is still mine?” “Seek for proof in my heart,” returned Wolfstein, “that heart which yet is bleeding from the thorns which thou, cruel girl, hast implanted in it: seek it in my every action, and then will the convinced Megalena know that Wolfstein is hers irrevocably--body and soul, for ever!” “Yet, I believe thee not!” said Megalena: “for the haughty Olympia della Anzasca would scarcely recline in the arms of a man who was not entirely devoted to her.” Yet were the charms of Megalena unfaded; yet their empire over Wolfstein excessive and complete. “Still I believe thee not,” continued she, as a smile of expectant malice sat upon her cheek. “I require some proof which will assuredly convince me that I am yet beloved: give me proof, and Megalena will again be Wolfstein’s.”--“Oh!” said Wolfstein, mournfully, “what farther proof can I give, but my oath, that never in soul or body have I broken the allegiance that I formerly swore to thee?” “The death of Olympia!” gloomily returned Megalena. “What mean you?” said Wolfstein, starting. “I mean,” continued Megalena, collectedly, as if what she was about to utter had been the result of serious cogitation: “I mean that, if ever you wish again to possess my affections, ere to-morrow morning, Olympia must expire!” “Murder the innocent Olympia?” “Yes!” A pause ensued, during which the mind of Wolfstein, torn by ten thousand warring emotions, knew not on what to resolve. He gazed upon Megalena: her symmetrical form shone with tenfold loveliness to his enraptured imagination: again he resolved to behold those eyes beam with affection for him, which were now gloomily fixed upon the ground. “Will nothing else convince Megalena that Wolfstein is eternally hers?” “Nothing.”