To retrace the wild fluctuations of those powerful and poignant feelings which agitated a mind alternately the prey of its wishes and its fears, now governed by the impetuous impulses of unconquerable love, now by the sacred ties of filial affection, now sacrificing every consideration to the dictates of duty, and now forgetting everything in the fond dreams of passion, would be an endless, an impossible task; when still vibrating between the sweet felicities of new-born hope, and the gloomy suggestions of habitual doubt. The weary traveller reached the peninsula of In-ismore about the same hour that he had done the preceding day. At the drawbridge he was met by a peasant whom he had known and to whom he gave his horse. The man, with a countenance full of importance, was going to address him, but he sprung eagerly forward and was in a moment immersed in the ruins of the castle; intending to pass through the chapel as the speediest and most private way, and to make his arrival first known to Father John, to declare to the good priest his real name and rank, his passion for Glorvina, and to receive his destiny from her lips only. He had scarcely entered the chapel when the private door by which it communicated with the castle flew open. He screened himself behind a pillar, from whence he beheld Father John proceeding with a solemn air towards the altar, followed by the Prince, carried by three servants in an arm chair, and apparently in the last stage of mortal existence. Glorvina then appeared wrapt in a long veil and supported on the arm of a stranger, whose figure and air was lofty and noble, but whose face was concealed by the recumbent attitude of his head, which drooped towards that of his apparently feeble companion, as if in the act of addressing her. This singular procession advanced to the altar; the chair of the Prince re posed at his feet. The priest stood at the sacred table--Glorvina and her companion knelt at its steps. The last red beams of the evening sun shone through a stormy cloud on the votarists all was awfully silent; a pause solemn and affecting ensued; then the priest began to celebrate the marriage rites; but the first words had not died on his lips, when a figure, pale and ghastly, rushed forward, wildly exclaiming, “Stop, I charge you, stop! you know not what you do! it is a sacrilege!” and breathless and faint the seeming maniac sunk at the feet of the bride.