“Cruel, cruel!” exclaimed Gustave, in broken tones.  “Can you leave me without a farewell?—­without a word of consolation?  Will you remain insensible to my grief and deaf to my prayers?  ’Tis well; I will submit to my lot, for you have decided it!  You, Lenora, my love, have sentenced me!  I forgive you:  be happy on earth without me, and farewell forever!”

As he uttered those words his strength seemed utterly to fail him, and, sinking into the chair which Lenora had quitted, his head and arms fell lifeless on the table.

The determined girl had made a few steps in her retreat to the house, when she suddenly halted on hearing the agonized tones of Gustave’s farewell and the sudden sound of his fall on the table.  As she glanced backward at the convulsed frame of her lover, a spasm that denoted the violent conflict between duty and affection passed over her beautiful face; and, as her heart appeared gradually to conquer in the fight, the tears began to pour in showers from her eyes.  Step by step and slowly she retraced the path to the table, and leaning over the sufferer, took one of his hands tenderly in hers:—­

“Are we not wretched, Gustave?  Are we not wretched?”

At the touch of that gentle hand and the sound of that beloved voice, life seemed once more to stir in his veins, and, raising his eyes languidly to hers, he gazed mournfully into them as he half said, half sighed,—­

“Lenora, dear Lenora, have you come back to me?  Have you taken pity on my agony?  You do not hate me, do you?” “Is a love like ours extinguished in a day?” returned Leonora, with a sigh.

“Oh, no, no!” cried Gustave aloud; “it is eternal!  Is it not eternal, Lenora, and omnipotent against every ill as long as the hearts beat in our bosoms?”

Lenora bowed her head and cast down her eyes.

“Do not imagine, Gustave,” said she, solemnly, “that our separation causes me less grief than it does you; and, if the assurance of my love can assuage the pangs of absence, let it strengthen and encourage you.  My lonely heart will keep your image sacred in its holiest shrine; I will follow you in spirit wherever you go, and I will love you till death shall fill up the gulf that separates us.  We shall meet again above, but never more on earth.”

“You are mistaken, Lenora,” cried Gustave, with a feeble expression of joy; “you are mistaken!  There is still hope; my uncle is not inexorable, and his compassionate heart must yield to my despair.”

“That may be,” replied Lenora, in sad but resolute tones; “that may be, Gustave; but my father’s honor is inflexible.  Leave me, Gustave; I have already disobeyed my father’s orders too long, and slighted my duty in remaining with a man who cannot become my husband.  Go now; for, if we should be surprised by some one, my poor, wretched father would die of shame and anger.”