CHAP. IX.

"They loved; and such their passion was, as heaven
Might view, nor darkly frown. Not pure, indeed,
(So poets vainly talk of innocence),

As breathed in Eden, ere our parents fell:
Yet such, perchance, as the Omniscient's eye
Might see, not deeply blaming, fix its seat
Within the bosom of his ransomed child."

IT was night when Alphonzo withdrew from the haunts of men, and retired to the solitary banks of the Rhone. It rolled onward, as ever it will do until the mountains, whence it derives its waters, have been removed from their place, and are found no more,* little caring for the joys or sorrows of the generations, that had been

At ille

Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis ævum.”—HOR.

swept away as it flowed. The moon was bright upon its troubled breast.* Silence had thrown his mantle over the neighbouring hills, and all seemed hushed in repose, save the stream, and him who watched it as it fled.

Here, again, he retraced the occurrences of the day; again, he wondered at the hidden cause of Emily's mysterious agitation; and, again, he asked himself" Could it have been connected with me? No, no! One so amiable, so lovely, so pious, could never think of the poor wanderer, Alphonzo. He could have no attractions for a mind, whose hopes have so long been fixed on heaven. What congeniality could there be between her, and one whose heart has hitherto been so much set on the enjoyments and pleasures of this unsubstantial scene? Alas! how transitory, how unsatisfying, have they proved!"

* The waters of the Upper Rhone are peculiarly dark and muddy. It is not until they have been purified in passing through the lake of Geneva, that they assume that lucid appearance, which is so striking before they unite with the Arva.

From these meditations he was roused by the bugle at the gates of the castle, which were still closed as in feudal times, when the evening bell was heard among the hills. It was the servant whom he had despatched to Major Villaret's soon after his reaching home, with enquiries for Emily. Having received his report, which our readers are aware would be favourable, he returned to his apartment. It was in vain, however, that he threw himself upon the bed, and attempted to snatch a hasty repose. His heart was too deeply agitated to permit slumber to visit his eyes, and as soon as the twilight was opening on the earth, he arose, ordered his horse, and proceeded towards the cottage.

When he arrived, the family were still enjoying the refreshment weary nature demands; and as the house was quiet, he thence augured well of the invalid. Giving his horse to his servant, he strolled, scarce knowing where he went, down to the lake; and, before he was aware whither his path conducted, he found himself on the spot

where he had yesterday been witness to Emily's agitation. He placed himself on the seat where she had reposed, and again revolved in his mind the affecting incidents of their interview.-" But no," said he, at length, as if involuntarily uttering thoughts too painful to be repressed, "it cannot be. Years, long years, have passed away, and remembrance must have ceased to dwell on the light hours of childhood. True, she wandered with me through many a weary day; and her image may have been an instrument in that higher hand, which threw the shield of its protection around my head, of restraining my wayward steps.-Yet-" His meditations were here interrupted by a message from Mrs. Villaret, informing him that they were waiting his company at breakfast, which, on the continent, is so simple, that it cannot be called a meal, consisting generally of a single cup of coffee, with the slender addition of a morsel of bread, or cake; except, indeed, where the numerous English residents have introduced an alteration of manners in this respect, as will

now frequently be met with in the environs of the lake of Geneva. At the period of our story, however, the islanders had long been debarred entrance to foreign climes, and foreign customs, consequently, reigned with an undisputed sway.

With a beating heart Alphonzo took his way to the cottage. The scenes of infancy, in which he had first felt an unknown pleasure in the society of little Emily of the glen-the visions of childhood-the deeper reflections of youth-and the moving incidents of yesterday-all rushed upon his mind. Almost he would have wished himself a stranger at the hospitable mansion whither he was going, so much was he agitated in anticipation of the succeeding interview with Emily. At length, with an emotion, now subsiding for a moment, and again increasing, as it responded to the current of his thoughts, he reached the house, and after a cordial salutation from the Major, who met him at the door, entered the room where Mrs. Villaret and Emily were waiting his arrival. Their morning