“Corinne!” said Oswald, “dear Corinne! my absence has then rendered you unhappy!” “Oh yes,” answered she, “you were sure of that!  Why then pain me! have I deserved to suffer at your hand?” “No, certainly,” cried Nelville, “but if I do not think myself free; if I feel in my heart a storm of grief, why should I associate you with such a torture of sentiment and dread?”—­“It is too late,” interrupted Corinne, “it is too late, grief has already seized upon my bosom—­spare me.”—­“Do you mention grief?” replied Oswald, “in the midst of so brilliant a career, of such renown, and possessing so lively an imagination?”—­“Hold,” said Corinne, “you do not know me; of all the faculties I possess, the most powerful is that of suffering.  I am born for happiness, my disposition is open, my imagination animated; but pain excites in me a certain impetuosity, powerful enough to disturb my reason or bring me to my grave; therefore I beseech you, spare me.  My gaiety and mobility are only superficial; but there are in my soul abysses of sadness, which I can only escape by guarding against love.”

Corinne pronounced these words with an expression that deeply affected Oswald.—­“I will come and see you to-morrow morning,” said he.  “Do you swear it?” said she, with a disquietude which she vainly endeavoured to conceal.  “Yes, I swear it,” cried Lord Nelville, and disappeared.

Book v.

THE TOMBS, THE CHURCHES, AND THE PALACES.

[Illustration]

Chapter i.

The next day, Oswald and Corinne felt much embarrassed at meeting each other.  Corinne was no longer confident of the love which she inspired.  Oswald was dissatisfied with himself; he knew there was a weakness in his character which sometimes made him feel irritated at his own sentiments as at a species of tyranny; and both endeavoured to avoid speaking of their mutual affection.  “I have to propose to-day,” said Corinne, “rather a solemn walk; but one that will certainly prove highly interesting:  let us go and see the tombs, let us go and see the last asylum of those who inhabited the monuments whose ruins we have contemplated.”—­“Yes,” answered Oswald, “you have conjectured what will suit the present disposition of my soul;” and he pronounced these words in so dolorous an accent, that Corinne was silent some moments, not daring to speak to him.  But the desire of affording consolation to Oswald, and the lively interest she took in every thing they were to see together, inspired her with courage, and she said to him:  “You know my lord, that, among the ancients, so far was the aspect of the tombs from dispiriting the living, that they endeavoured to excite a new emulation by placing these tombs on the public roads, in order that by recalling to young people the remembrance of illustrious men, they might silently admonish them to follow their example.”  “Ah! how I envy all those,”