She sinks down upon a bench. She leans against the parapet. She no longer turns to the west. She no longer gazes upon the Mimbres. Her heart is no longer in the desert land! No; it is with her eyes, and these rest almost continuously on Saint Vrain. They wander at intervals over the stones of the azotea; then her thoughts do not go with them; but they ever return to the same object, to gaze upon it tenderly, more tenderly at each new glance. The anguish of captivity is over. She no longer desires to escape. There is no prison where he dwells. It is now a paradise. Henceforth the doors may be thrown freely open. That little bird will make no further effort to fly from its cage. It is tamed. What memory, friendship, entreaties, had tailed to effect, love had accomplished in a single instant. Love, mysterious power, in one pulsation had transformed that wild heart; had drawn it from the desert. I fancied that Seguin had noticed all this, for he was observing her movements with attention. I fancied that such thoughts were passing in his mind, and that they were not unpleasing to him, for he looked less afflicted than before. But I did not continue to watch the scene. A deeper interest summoned me aside; and, obedient to the sweet impulse, I strayed towards the southern angle of the azotea. I was not alone. My betrothed was by my side; and our hands, like our hearts, were locked in each other. There was no secrecy about our love; with Zoe there never had been. Nature had prompted the passion. She knew not the conventionalities of the world, of society, of circles refined, soi-disant. She knew not that love was a passion for one to be ashamed of. Hitherto no presence had restrained her in its expression--not even that, to lovers of less pure design, awe-inspiring above all others--the presence of the parents. Alone or in their company, there was no difference in her conduct. She knew not the hypocrisies of artificial natures; the restraints, the intrigues, the agonies of atoms that act. She knew not the terror of guilty minds. She obeyed only the impulse her Creator had kindled within her. With me it was otherwise. I had shouldered society; though not much then, enough to make me less proud of love's purity--enough to render me slightly sceptical of its sincerity. But through her I had now escaped from that scepticism. I had become a faithful believer in the nobility of the passion. Our love was sanctioned by those who alone possessed the right to sanction it. It was sanctified by its own purity.