from time to time, began to revolve in her mind what had passed between her and Rodolfo.  The hopes her mother had given her of being his wife began to droop, and the fear came strong upon her that such bliss was not for one so luckless as herself.  She reflected how near she stood to the crisis which was to determine whether she was to be blessed or unhappy for ever, and racked by the intensity of her emotions, she suddenly changed colour, her head dropped, and she fell forward in a swoon into the arms of the dismayed Estafania.

The whole party sprang up in alarm and hastened to her assistance, but no one showed more earnest sympathy than Rodolfo, who fell twice in his haste to reach her.  They unlaced her, and sprinkled her face with cold water; but far from coming to her senses, the fulness of her congested bosom, her total insensibility, and the absence of all pulse gave such mortal indications, that the servants began imprudently to cry out that she was dead.  This shocking news reached the ears of her parents, whom Dona Estafania had concealed in another room that they might make their appearance at the right moment.  They now rushed into the supper room, and the parish priest, who was also with them, went up to the prostrate lady to see if she could by any signs make known that she repented of her sins in order that he might give her absolution; but instead of one fainting person he found two, for Rodolfo lay with his face on Leocadia’s bosom.  His mother had left her to him as being her destined protector; but when she saw that he too was insensible, she was near making a third, and would have done so had he not come to himself.  He was greatly confused at finding that he had betrayed such emotion; but his mother, who guessed his thoughts, said to him, “Do not be ashamed, my son, at having been so overcome by your feelings; you would have been so still more had you known what I will no longer conceal from you, though I had intended to reserve it for a more joyful occasion.  Know then, son of my heart, that this fainting lady is your real bride:  I say real, because she is the one whom your father and I have chosen for you, and the portrait was a pretence.”

When Rodolfo heard this, carried away by the vehemence of his passion, and on the strength of his title as a bridegroom disdaining all conventional proprieties, he clasped Leocadia in his arms, and with his lips pressed to hers, seemed as if he was waiting for her soul to issue forth that he might absorb and mingle it with his own.  Just at the moment when the tears of the pitying beholders flowed fastest, and their ejaculations were most expressive of despair, Leocadia gave signs of recovery, and brought back gladness to the hearts of all.  When she came to her senses, and, blushing to find herself in Rodolfo’s arms, would have disengaged herself, “No, senora,” he said, “that must not be; strive not to withdraw from the arms of him who holds you in his soul.”  There needed no more than these words to complete her