“My dear Elise, when you receive this letter I shall be no more, and the heart which has suffered so much will be at rest.  But when I have found repose in the grave, do you fulfil my trust.  I leave you the dearest legacy that I possess.  I give you back your property, the heart and love of Feodor, which never ceased to belong to you.  I never have been able to win this love to myself.  He gave me his hand, his heart remains yours, and that is killing me.  Take it then, it is my legacy to you; and if you accept it my purified spirit will bless your reunion.

LODOISKA.”

The letter dropped from her hand; completely overpowered by deep and solemn emotions, she sank in her chair, and hid her tears with her hands.  Feodor felt that she was again his, that he had regained his sway over her.  He rushed toward her, falling at her feet, and passionately snatching her hands from her face, he exclaimed, “Elise! in this moment her spirit is hovering over us.  She blesses this love which she has already forgiven.  Oh, if you only knew what I have suffered for you, you would, at least, not be angry with me.  You would pardon me for the sake of what I have undergone.”

“Have I then not suffered also?” she asked, turning her face, covered with tears, toward him.

“Oh! leave me here at your feet,” he continued.  “Look upon me as a poor pilgrim who has wandered to the holy Sepulchre in order to cleanse his heart of its sins at the sanctuary by sincere repentance and prayers for forgiveness.  You are my sanctuary, to you my heart bends; the poor pilgrim has come to you to confess and be shrived before he dies.  Will you, my Madonna, hear him?  May I tell you what I have endured, how much I have suffered?”

“Speak,” she said, half conscious, but eagerly listening to the music of his voice.  “Tell me what you have suffered, that I may forget my own sufferings when I gave you up.”

“Oh!” he continued, with a shudder, “I shall never forget that fearful moment when I became aware of the deception, and discovered that it was not you, but Lodoiska, whom I held in my arms.  A raving madness seized me, which threatened my own life.  Lodoiska turned aside the dagger, and pronounced your name.  That name recalled me to life, to the knowledge of my crime.  I submitted to the punishment which I had merited, and which you had imposed upon me.  I led Lodoiska to the altar, at which I had hoped to see you.  I made her my wife, and my heart pronounced your name, while my lips bound me to her.  It was a terrible hour, a fearful agony raged within me, and it has never left me since.  It was there, when Lodoiska pressed me to her heart.  It was present in the tumult of battle.  Then, however, when death raged around me, when destruction thundered from the enemy’s cannon, then I became cheerful, and the pang left me as I rushed amid the enemy’s ranks.  But even death itself retreated before me—­I found on the battle-field only honor and fame, but not the object for which I fought, not death.  I lived to suffer and to expiate my crime toward you, Elise.  But one hope sustained me, the hope one day to fall at your feet, to clasp your knees, and to sue for forgiveness.”