Then to have died would have been most blessed The priest dispelled the transient dream. He forcibly put me from him. He stifled the voice of nature and pity in his breast. His air was sternly virtuous--“Go,” said he, but he spoke in vain. I still clung to the drapery of Glorvina’s robe; he forced me from her, and she sunk on a couch. “I now,” he added, “behold the fatal error to which I have been an unconscious accessary. Thank God, it is retrievable; go, amiable, but imprudent young man; it is honour, it is virtue commands your departure.” While he spoke he had almost dragged me to the hall. “Stay,” said I, in a faint voice, “let me but speak to her.” “It is in vain,” replied the inexorable priest, “for she can _never_ be yours; then spare _her_, spare _yourself_.” “Never!” I exclaimed. “Never,” he firmly replied. I burst from his grasp and flew to Glorvina. I snatched her to my breast and wildly cried, “Glorvina, is this then a last farewell?” She answered not, but her silence was eloquent. “Then,” said I, pressing her more closely to my heart, “_farewell forever!_” IN CONTINUATION. I mounted the horse that waited for me at the door, and galloped off; but with the darkness of the night I returned, and all night I wandered about the environs of Inismore: to the last I watched the light of Glorvina’s window. When it was extinguished, it seemed as though I parted from her again. A gray dawn was already breaking to the mists of obscurity. Some poor peasants were already going to the labours of the day. It was requisite I should go. Yet when I ascended the mountain of Inismore I involuntarily turned, and beheld those dear ruins which I had first entered under the influence of such powerful, such prophetic emotion. What a train of recollections rushed on my mind, what a climax did they form! I turned away my eyes, sick, _sick_ at _heart_, and pursued my solitary journey. Within twelve miles of M-------- house, as I reached an eminence, I again paused to look back, and caught a last view of the mountain of Inismore. It seemed to float like a vapour on the horizon. I took a last farewell of this almost loved mountain. Once it had risen on my gaze like the pharos to my haven of enjoyment; for never, until this sad moment, had I beheld it but with transport. On my arrival here I found a letter from my father, simply stating that by the time it reached me he would probably be on his way to Ireland, accompanied by my intended bride, and her father, concluding thus: “In beholding you honourably and happily established, thus secure in a liberal, a noble independence, the throb of incessant solicitude you have hitherto awakened will at last be _stilled_, and your prudent compliance in this instance will bury in eternal oblivion the sufferings, the anxieties which, with all your native virtue and native talent, your imprudence has hitherto caused to the heart of an affectionate and indulgent father.”