purity of an uncorrupted soul, Felix believed that his heart could not remain for ever untouched by such a contemplation, and took no pains to evade or discourage his visits. Once when Vallenstein, as was his custom, earnestly appealed to him respecting his right to repose in the same tomb with Wilhelm's sister, grasping his hand, and repeatedly calling for his promise, Wolfsteïn rose, and to the utter consternation of the Friar, he breathed a solemn and terrible vow that one fate should await both.

"For," said he, after a pause," she cannot die, Vallenstein, till thou diest! Destiny has compelled thee to live without her, but ye must die together."

The confused intellect of Casimir forbade him to comprehend clearly the meaning of what he heard, but he took it as an assurance of future bliss, and pressed the hand of Wolfstein close to his bosom, while Felix said,

"In Heaven's name, what mean you, my Lord ?"

"Time will unravel my meaning, Friar, and to time I refer you."

And he stalked from the apartment to that of his wife. Madame de Wolfsteïn, no longer confined to her couch, endeavoured to occupy her melancholy mind by works of ingenuity her graver studies, with the sole exception of that from which a promise of such peace as this evil world knows not is derived, were become irksome and uninteresting; her eyes wandered in vain over the most admired passages of those authors who had once awakened her interest, they had no consolation to offer her, she had no longer either thought or feeling to give them. From her pencil she obtained occupation, if not amusement; she would spend hours in the use of it, and as, if there was a sympathetic correspondence between her musings and the delirium of Casimir, the subjects she chose were all of a lugubrious and funereal

tendency; she was never weary of sketching the tomb of Wilhelm and Blanche, the little chapel on the isle of willows, dedicated to their memory, or solemn processions of nuns and friars, following to the grave some flower-decked bier. Except when prostrate before the crucifix in the privacy of her oriel chamber, or in communication with the holy Felix, she exhibited no emotion; the same calm, apathetic indifference seemed to absorb her feelings which had taken possession of those of Wolfstein, and evinced itself in nothing more strikingly than in the still composure with which she received his now frequent visits :-he would sit, even by the hour, watching her work, which she would pursue with an untrembling hand; -sometimes he would say, in a soft tone,

Lay down that pencil, Louisa, and

put that hand in mine."

She would obey, as if mechanically, but his pressure received no answer, and he would almost ask himself if the soft

fingers he held were indeed indued with life and feeling. Sometimes he harboured a faint, vague hope that some look, or smile, or word, or act of tenderness would proceed from the pale yet beautiful form by his side-but he waited in vain; yet he often thought of Marchfeldt and of the days of dawning passion, and felt that he would now have bartered a life but for one fugitive expression of that love he had so brutally thrown away, and trampled under foot.

"You once loved me, Louisa-did you not?"

"I believe so."

"You believe so," echoed he, groan. ing deeply" do you only believe so? Then you have forgotten to be sure of it! Yet I remember it, Louisa," and striking his forehead violently-" Oh! that I did not! That remembrance is my sole torture! But tell me, Iconjure thee, tell me, is there nothing left? Is every spark extinct? -You loved me dearly once, Louisa

VOL. III.

P

something, something remains-I know

it does!"

"I believe not, Wolfstein," said she, with a cold inanimate smile.

"Unfeeling, barbarous woman! Hast thou been to the inquisition, and learned to drop the slow cold drop on the brain of thy victim?"

"What mean you, Wolfstein? Heaven knows I would not torture you!-But you cannot for a moment imagine that love survives? I will never, never deceive you!"

3

"But you shall deceive me, madam," he cried, in a sudden access of fury, “you shall feign love though you feel it not !— But this is folly," said he, sinking into a calm: "I once thought this world held nothing unattainable, but now I know my error my wife, the creature of my will, a being so fragile as one stamp of my foot or one determined grasp could

crumble into atoms, can close her heart against me! I have talked with Ca.