Return we again to that Mediterranean island on which Fernand Wagner and the beauteous Nisida espoused each other by solemn vows plighted in the face of Heaven, and where they have now resided for six long months. At first how happy--how supremely happy was Nisida, having tutored herself so far to forget the jarring interests of that world which lay beyond the sea, as to abandon her soul without reservation to the delights of the new existence on which she had entered. Enabled once more to use that charming voice which God had given her, but which had remained hushed for so many years,--able also to listen to the words that fell from the lips of her lover, without being forced to subdue and crush the emotions which they excited,--and secure in the possession of him to whom she was so madly devoted, and who manifested such endearing tenderness toward herself, Nisida indeed felt as if she were another being, or endowed with the lease of a new life. At first, too, how much had Wagner and Nisida to say to each other,--how many fond assurances to give--how many protestations of unalterable affection to make! For hours would they sit together upon the seashore, or on the bank of the limpid stream in the valley, and converse almost unceasingly, wearying not of each other's discourse, and sustaining the interests and the enjoyment of that interchange of thoughts by flying from topic to topic just as their unshackled imagination suggested. But Fernand never questioned Nisida concerning the motive which had induced her to feign dumbness and deafness for so many years; she had given him to understand that family reasons of the deepest importance, and involving dreadful mysteries from the contemplation of which she recoiled with horror, had prompted so tremendous a self-martyrdom:--and he loved her too well to outrage her feelings by urging her to touch more than she might choose on that topic. Careful not to approach the vicinity of large trees, for fear of these dreadful tenants of the isle who might be said to divide its sovereignty with them, the lovers--may we not venture to call them husband and wife?--would ramble hand-in-hand, along the stream's enchanting banks, in the calm hours of moonlight, which lent softer charms to the scene than when the gorgeous sun was bathed all in gold. Or else they would wander on the sands to the musical murmur of the rippling sea,--their arms clasping each other's neck--their eyes exchanging glances of fondness--hers of ardent passion, his of more melting tenderness. But there was too much sensuality in the disposition of Nisida to render her love for Wagner sufficient and powerful enough to insure permanent contentment with her present lot.