How changeable is man! Harold had withstood, resisted,
derided all temptation, in the presence of a
monarch, for the power of him that he had left, was
that of a monarch. Royalty was upon his forehead,
command in his tread, and greatness in his hands.

While there, there, in the very abiding place of Ambition,
whom he had so long idolized, there, he had
resisted her dominion, and taught her to cower before
him. With this feeling, he had descended, and trod
through all the glittering retinue of the audience chamber,
and court, with the stately, free step of a native
Indian; but, as he approached his own home, a deep
sigh escaped him, it is in vain to deny it, and a half
articulate wish that he had taken a little time for consideration.
`But perhaps, perhaps, he will repeat his
offer,' said he. O, how changeable is man!

`Come hither, Elvira,' said he, as she met him, with
open arms, and parted lips, at the door—`and let me
tell thee all.'

He did tell her all, and her heart palpitated aloud
at the recital. The fame of his eloquence had already
reached her in his absence, and was yet ringing, like
musick, in her ears. She had just left her chamber,
where she had been weeping with joy and thankfulness.

`How proudly thou standest before me,' said she,
as he locked her arm with his, and she felt then, as if
she could have gone abroad, and heard it proclaimed
through all the world, by the sound of trumpet,

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that he, he was her chosen one—`Behold him,' she dia
say, `how calm he looks, and yet, he hath just shaken
a British senate with the thunder of his eloquence!
This pale, pale brow hath just been elevated, amid the
princes and magnates of the land!'

A few days more, and it was determined that they
would marry, as men and women should marry, in
silence, and apart from the world. Harold detested
the shameful fashion of marrying before a mob, but
still more, the indecent practice of exhibiting your
wife to strangers the day after marriage, that day of
all others, which ought to be most exclusively given
up to love and tenderness; when each is most eager
to be near the other, to give and impart consolation,
which, to the loving and beloved, who see omens in
everything, while the heart is too full for company, and
too happy and too distressed for parade or compliment,
is so apt to be taken for an epitome of their new life. O,
it is a shameful, a brutal profanation, to exhibit a pale
and trembling girl, sick, sick at heart, with expectation
and disappointment, and anxiety, while she is ready to
sink into the earth with her newly awakened emotion,
to the cold, saucy, and significant observation of gossips,
gossips, with, or without petticoats. Strange! but
woman, the lovliest, meekest, and most helpless, will
brave it out, yea, submit to that, before a multitude of
ruffian strangers, which she would shrink from at home,
among her brothers and friends. How often will you
see a delicate creature exposing her bosom, naked, to a
herd of coxcombs, and fools, and profligates, at a fashionable
party, who will sit at home, at her own tea-table,
among them that she loves, covered to the shoulders,
and muffled to the chin!

But why preach against such indecency? Is it not
the fashion? and although the tamest spirit acknowledges
that fashions are generally set by fools,
and are generally absurd and ridiculous, and invented
only, like the tricks of masonry, to distinguish the patricians,
who, heaven knows, have generally most patrician
brains withal—that—that—but no matter, it is
idle to talk against their dominion.

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The following Thursday was to be the day. It was
now Sunday—the day of peril and trial, consternation
and dismay; for who does not feel all this, who reflects
on what duties he is about to undertake? to cleave
unto his loved one, forever and ever, to comfort and
sustain her, watch over her, instruct, and bless her.
O, such a vow is enough to make one tremble!

It was determined to have the ceremony performed
privately, and then, that the new couple should immediately
set off for Dover, and then to France.

It was near evening. Harold was sitting in his
room, the room that Oscar had occupied. It was all in
a glow, with the flooding sunset. He was leaning upon
his hands; a strange, sweet melancholy filled his heart,
up to the very brim. A few bright tears trickled
through his fingers. It was delicious, and Harold indulged
the feeling, like one that listens to a low, inward,
mournful musick, till it operates upon the heart,
and his very breathing is an echo. A light, soft step was
approaching; it hesitated, hurried, paused, as if doubtful
of the reception. `Elvira,' cried Harold, leaping
from his chair, and catching her delicate hands, and he
would have touched her forehead, perhaps her lips,
as usual—but why paused she? what withheld him?
O, how sensitive are lovers! Her manner was kind,
very kind, and her countenance but slightly altered;
yet Harold, as he looked upon it, shivered all over,
and was unable to speak. A distressing silence followed;
her eyelids were thrown down, and he knew not
what to say, or think. Not an hour had passed, since
they parted, and she, all light, and love, and tenderness.
He was silent, first, from inability to speak; and
he continued so, because he was wounded, his affection
and dignity were wounded. They sat down. Harold
breathed not, moved not, he felt as if some tremendous
evil was about to overwhelm him, but of what
nature, or whence, he had no conception.

`Harold,' said Elvira; `dear Harold.' (She disengaged
her hands gently, as she said this, and spoke
with a faint, quiet, but very deliberate voice,) `we must
part.')

[figure description] Page 300.[end figure description]

`Part, Elvira,' cried Harold,' seizing her hands
with a wild cry—a shriek!—another answered him! He
had heard it before. All his sufferings broke in lightning,
over his brain! He covered his face. He knelt to
her!—he pressed her cold hands to his lip—kissed them
over and over again, and wept upon them. `O, Elvira,'
he sobbed out at last, `O, Elvira, O, it cannot be!'

`Hear me,' she replied, faintly, `hear me, arise, let
me proceed. Be prepared for every thing. Your first
love, she whom you have wept as dead, dishonoured—
Loena—nay, nay, dear Harold, not so wildly, pray
be more composed, do not look so wildly upon me,
nay, nay, let me soothe thee, she is alive.'

`Alive!' cried Harold!' she! O, where is she? let me
fly to her. No, no, no! wretched girl, no! would that
she were dead! O, forgive me, Elvira; I would comfort
her for thy sake—but I will not see her; I cannot.'

`Yes, Harold, thou canst, and shalt. She is worthy
of thy love—there!'

Harold fell senseless upon his face, and when he recovered,
his head was upon Elvira's knees, and she
was chafing his temples; he opened his dark eyes, but
shut them again instantly, and his brow darkened
with some mournful thought, or some deep, deep,
pain.'

`She is still devotedly thine—' (Harold pressed her
hand, and her tears fell like rain upon his face)—`She
was your first love, your only love. You have never
loved but one, Harold, as you are capable of loving,
I mean.'

`Elvira! do not, do not blaspheme.'

`O, my dear Harold,' said Elvira, bashfully leaning
over him, while her delicate lids quivered with excess
of tenderness over her lamping blue eyes, `how I
have loved thee, God only knows! Thou hast been a
religion with me, my dream by night, my prayer by
day. Harold hath haunted me, forever. Gradually,
for who can withstand the incessant solicitation, allurement,
and importunity of her fancy, gradually have I
brought myself to associate all my hopes of happiness
here and hereafter, with thee, and thine. I dreaded to

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do this, yet I did it. My heart had been broken once
before, but now, it was to be reduced to powder, dust,
and ashes. Nay, nay, Harold, I entreat thee not to interrupt
me. This may be our last meeting. Why dost
thou cling to me so? I am doing only what thou wouldst
do—what thou knowest, is right.—Thou wilt
go to thy duty—I—I—to mine—I.'

`And, now, O, Harold, now, that we are about to
part, for I have determined, and nothing on earth can
move me—now I am at liberty to speak, and my heart,
swollen to bursting with the fountains of its tenderness
for thee, will no longer bear this darkness and
concealment—behold! it discharges them now, without
shame or trembling! O, Harold, Harold, how I have
loved thee! better, ten thousand times better than light,
or life, or reputation. Thou hast been to me, all in all,
my friend, lover, husband, father, and even my God!
for all were forgotten when thou wast near me. O,
Harold, thou dear one, may she love thee, as I have
loved thee'—poor Elvira's passionate emotion had gradually
increased, until she sobbed aloud, as she concluded.

Harold knelt to her, and threw his arms about her,
in wonder and consternation, dreading it as a dream,
yet dreading to awake, and shivering all over, while
her temples throbbed against his, and her hot tears
fell into his bosom.

`It is too much, too much, by heaven!' he cried, `I
shall go distracted. Woman! woman! am I mad? or
art thou? where am I? who art thou? whom do I hold
in my arms?'

`Calm thyself, dear Harold,' said Elvira, raising
her sweet face, amid her dishevelled tresses. Be happy
thyself, and thou wilt make me happy. Thou wilt
say, when thou art happy, very happy in her, her arms,—
let us bless Elvira! O, think Harold, what a wretch,
what a vile and execrable wretch, thou wouldst have
had for a companion, for a sharer of thy glory and
heart, if I had usurped wittingly, a heart like thine,
while its lawful and abused tenant was ready, after the

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exile of many a year, to re-inhabit it. By heaven! nay,
thou must, and shalt hear me! O, do not, do not press
me to thy heart so frantickly—O, do not, there, release
me, hear now my confession, and remember it.
It will be a comfort to thee, in thy dying hour, and
Harold, O, believe me, even thy great heart will have
need of comfort, in that hour! I have been wicked,
very wicked. I have prayed, yes, prayed for the death
of Loena—yes, I deserve it, but do not kill me with
these looks—forbear a while, I shall not trouble—thee,
nor her, long. I have prayed that thy heart might be
alienated from her. But I repented. I set an inquiry
on foot, and after years of toil and perplexity, I am
able to say, thank heaven! thank heaven! that she is innocent,
and loves thee yet. And well for her, that she
does, for I should hate her else. Harold, I have told
thee that I did love thee; and I now tell thee that I
love thee now, to adoration—that I never have loved
any other human being as I love thee, that I had hoped
to live here, and hereafter, within the circle of thy
arms. There was to be my paradise, nay, more—'

A faint blush passed over her beautiful neck, and
was followed by a deadly paleness, and her eyelids
drooped—

`I have dreamt, and I know not why I should shame
to confess it, that—that I had borne children to thee—
that we were—merciful heaven!—and is it come to
this, and must we part?'

`Oh, Elvira, must we indeed?' said Harold.

`We must indeed, so intermingled too, so—our very
existence blended, in spirit, heart, and blood, and intellect.
There! I have told it all now, all! My poor
heart is easy—the tightness is over—I can breathe
freely now—Yet think not that thou wouldst ever have
known the extent of my love, but for this determination,
which nothing can alter, that we must part, and forever.
'

`Judge then, Harold, of the sacrifice that I make, in
parting with thee, to my rival too. I do it, to punish
my transgression, my idolatry. And now, Harold, now,
am I not worthy of thee?'

[figure description] Page 303.[end figure description]

Harold bowed down before her, bowed down, in the
profoundest adoration. It was the homage of all that
was lofty in his nature, so deep, so awful, that his blood
forgot to flow, as he put his forehead to the earth before
her, with the movement and veneration of one,
who, prostrate in the lonely solitude, hears musick in
the wind. `Heroick woman,' said he, rising and standing
majestically before her, with his dark eyes flashing
rivulets of light, `I never knew thee till this hour!
But now, I do know thee. Take me, even as I am,
take me, and let us be happy—but—no, no, if
that disturb thee, I will not even ask that. Let me be
worthy of thee. Let us live and die in martyrdom to
our love. I do not attempt to shake thy resolution. I
will not. Wert thou one jot or tittle less magnificent,
I should cry out—Behold me, me! Elvira, at thy feet,
take me from the earth, retract and bless me! But now—
oh, I could not. I respect, I revere thee too much, to
intercede for myself. I bow, unresistingly, to thy determination.
For myself—there is my hand. I cannot
abandon the Indian girl, if she be what she was. I cannot
wed another, while she lives, and is innocent, and
helpless. I must wed her, and love her, and protect
her. She shall die in my arms, or I in hers; for this I
promised her, before I saw thee. I shall be a husband,
and perhaps a father. If I shall be, my babes shall
learn to pray for thee, dear, as the priestess of love,
the divinity of honour. My children shall bear thy
name; and now, while my poor heart is aching, with the
rupture of all its ties, and the derangement of all its
elements, and ready to die, to burst, in martyrdom to
love and duty, my love to thee, thou heroick woman,
my duty to the poor Loena, I can only say, that I have
loved thee, even as thou hast loved me, with all that
boundless love and devotion which thou hast manifested.
Farewell! For thy sake, dear woman, I will be a
good man, for that is always in our power, and great,
if it shall please heaven: a husband, and a father, if I
am so blessed, the kindest and truest, for thy sake;
farewell! Heaven forever bless and protect thee!'

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`Oh, Harold, my heart cleaves to thine yet,' said
Elvira, still weeping, and they embraced, again and
again, treacherous as it was, and then separated, in the
delirium of their spirits. It was passed and done, the
sacrifice accomplished, ere they had once looked upon
it steadily, and learnt to contemplate its appalling magnitude,
and then, oh then, like all other living creatures,
their pride, their unwillingness to be the first in repentance
and atonement, continued to hold them with the
hands of a giant, upon the path which they had so precipitately
chosen.

They separated; a voice was heard at the door, and
the next moment, angels of heaven! what was it?
something stood before him, a creature, who was it?
the deep, dark, passionate languishing of her eyes,
the sweet and beautiful solemnity of her countenance,
oh surely—She extended her hands, they shook slightly,
and Harold, blinded and dizzy with her overpowering
presence, caught at it, with shut eyes, and staggered
to her arms.

He was speechless.

It was, indeed, Loena; her queenly carriage, the
melancholy, black lustre of her eye, the transparent
olive, the jetty tresses, gathering round and round her
low forehead, like matted silk, the perfectly Grecian
outline of her face, the undulating movement of her
neck, that inexpressible something, the first raciness
and purity of nature, oh—it was enchantment.

`Can it be,' cried the bewildered Harold, gasping
and choking.

`Well, Harold,' said Loena, timidly, as their cheeks
touched and thrilled.

`Her voice, oh, it is she! the same, the same!' he
cried, unable longer to restrain himself, and falling
upon her neck, `just as we parted last, ah, it thrills
through and through me. And art thou, oh, Loena,
dear, dear Loena, art thou mine, at last? Oh, what
have I not suffered. But let me ask thee—nay, not
now—but I have ten thousand questions for thee.

`And can it be,' he repeated, over and over again,
holding her beautiful hands in his, and standing off

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from her with an expression of awe and rapture, till
his eyes danced in their sockets, `ah can it be?'

For his soul, he could not utter another word, he
sobbed, and laughed, and clapped his hands, and shouted,
hysterically, as all the past, like a tempest of mingled
cloud and light, came driving over his memory—
like the cold rain, falling heavily from a thunder cloud,
in a blue sky—mingling terrour, and beauty, and chilliness.
His countenance changed rapidly, his joints
shook, as with the palsy, and Loena was obliged to lead
him to a seat.

And she—ah then, her composure had passed. She
had been prepared for this, he had not. She knew all,
and was on her guard for all, that could happen; but
even she was now overcome. She covered her face,
and leant, could it be otherwise? upon the bosom of
her lord. For a moment, a prompt feeling of fidelity
to Elvira, caused Harold to repel her approach, for
he had been, and would have been hers, and hers alone,
but for Loena; but the next, they were locked anew,
anew, after years of agony, and trial, and separation,
in each other's arms.

`Oh, Harold,' said Loena, after several attempts to
articulate her joy, `but no, no, I cannot speak. I am
still, still the Indian girl, my heart is too full; and yet,
it is a pity but thou shouldst know, what I might never
have told thee, but for our separation, that Harold I
do love thee, wicked as thou art, I do indeed.'