by Lady Morgan
CHAPTER X.
The day arose brightly upon the valley of Cashmire. It came in all thesplendid majesty of light, bathing in hues of gold the summits of theIndian Caucasus: it came in all the renovating influence of warmth,raising the blossom the night-breeze had laid low; it shed the dews ofheaven upon the towering head of the mighty banyan, and steeped inliquid silver the flowers of the vesanti creeper; pervading, with agenial and delicious power, the most remote recess, the most minuteproduction of nature, and pouring upon the face of the earth, thebeneficent influence of that Being from whose word it proceeded. But theday brought no solace in its dawn, no joy in its course, to him, who, inthe scale of creation, came nearest in his nature to the Creator;--itbrightened not his thoughts; it revived not his hopes; and, for him, itsbeams shone, its dews fell, in vain.
The minister of the religion of peace arose from his harassing slumberwith an heart heavy and troubled, with a frame chilled and unrefreshed.He arose, agitated by that vague consciousness of misery, whichdisturbs, without being understood, when the mind, suddenly awakenedfrom the transient suspension of its powers, has not yet regained itsfull vigour of perception, nor the memory collected and arranged thefreshly traced records of some stranger woe, and when the faculty ofsuffering, alone remains to us in all its original force and activity.Agitated by the tumults of passion, distracted by the suspicions ofjealousy, torn by the anguish of remorse, and humbled by theconsciousness of weakness, the Missionary now felt the full extent ofhis progressive and obstinate illusion, in the consequences it hadalready produced; he felt that the heart which once opens itself to theadmission of a strong passion, is closed against every other impression,and that objects obtain or lose their influence, only in proportion asthey are connected with, or remote from, its interest. Love was now tohim what his religion had once been, and the strongest feeling thatrules the human heart stood opposed to the most powerful opinion whichgoverns the human mind:--the conflict was terrific, and proportioned inobstinacy and vigour to the strength of the character in which it wassustained. Knowing no solace in his misery but what arose from thebelief that the secret of his weakness was known only to Heaven and tohimself, he resolved not to trust its preservation to the issue ofchance; but, ere the dreadful passions which shook his soul couldrealize their fatal influence in crime; ere the fluctuating emotionswhich degraded his mind could resolve themselves into iniquity; ere hedebased the life which sin had not yet polluted, or broke the vows whichwere revered, even while they were endangered, he determined to fly thescenes of his temptation, and to cling to the cross for his redemptionand support. Yet still, with an heart vibrating from the recentconvulsion of its most powerful feelings, he remained irresolute even inhis resolution. Convinced of the imperious necessity which urged him toleave, for ever, the object of a passion which opposed itself equally tohis temporal and to his eternal welfare; to leave for ever, those sceneswhich had cherished and witnessed its progress; he still doubted whetherhe should again, and for the last time, behold her, whose falsehood itwas his interest to believe, and his misery to suspect. Now governed byconscience and by jealousy; now by tenderness and passion--the alternatevictim of feeling and religion, of love and of opinion; he continued(wretched in his indecision) to wander amidst the voluptuous shades ofhis perilous seclusion; hoping that chance might betray him into thepresence of his dangerous and faithless disciple, and vowingpremeditatedly to avoid her, or to behold her only to upbraid, toadmonish, and to leave her for ever. The day, as it passed on, vainlytold to his unheeding senses its rapid flight in all the sweetgradations of light and odour, in beams less ardent, and in gales morebalmy; till the Missionary, unconsciously descending a path worn awaythrough a gigantic mass of pine-covered rocks, found himself, at thesetting of the sun, near the too well remembered stream of eveningworship. He started and shuddered, and involuntarily recoiled; and thatfatal moment when he had first seized the up-raised arm of theidolatrous Priestess, rushed to his recollection: the hour--theplace--the stream which had since so often reflected in its course thepastor and the proselyte--the tree which had so often shaded theirfervid brows when the glow which suffused them was not all the influenceof season--the sun, whose descending beam had so often been the heraldof their felicity--all looked, all was now, as it had been then,unaltered and unchanged. The Missionary gazed around him, and sighedprofoundly: “All here,” he said, “still breathes of peace, as when,myself at peace with all the world, I first beheld this scene oftranquil loveliness. All here remains the same. O man! it is then thydreadful prerogative alone, to sustain that change of all thy powerswhich leaves thee a stranger to thyself, lost in the wild vicissitude offeelings, to which thy past experience can prove no guide, thy reasonlend no light: one fixed immutable law of harmony and order, regulatesand governs the whole system of unintelligent creatures; but thou, inthy fatal pre-eminence, makest no part in the splendid mechanism ofnature: exclusive and distinct among the works of thy Creator, to theealone is granted a self-existing principle of intellectual pain; asolitary privilege of moral suffering. Vicegerent of Heaven! thou rulestall that breathes, save only thyself: and boasting a ray of the divineintelligence, thou art the slave of instinct, thy principle of action aselfish impulse, and thy restraint an inscrutable necessity.”--He pausedfor a moment, and raising his eyes to the sun, which was descending inall the magnificence of retiring light, still apostrophizing the speciesto which he belonged, and whose imperfections he felt he epitomized inhimself, he continued: “That orb, which rises brightly on thy buddinghopes, sets with a changeless lustre on their bloom’s destruction; but,in the brief interval of time in which it performs its wonted course,in uninterrupted order, what are the sad transitions by which the mindof man is subject! what are the countless shades of hope and fear, ofshame and triumph, of rapture and despair, by which he may be depressedor elevated, ennobled or debased!” He sighed profoundly, as he concludeda picture of which he was himself the unfortunate original; and,withdrawing his eyes from the receding sun, he threw them, with thelooks of one who fears an intrusion upon his solitary misery, in thatline where a gentle rustling in the leaves had called his attention. Thebranches, thick and interlaced, slowly unclasped their folds, and thrownlightly back on either side, by a small and delicate hand, thePriestess of Brahma issued from their dusky shade; her form lighted upby the crimson rays of that life-giving power, to which she was at thishour wont to offer her vesper homage. She had that day officiated in thePagoda, where she served, and she was habited in sacerdotal vestments,but there was in her look more of the tender solicitude of an expectingheart, than the tranquil devotion of a soul which religion onlyoccupied. Advancing with a rapid, yet doubtful step, she cast round hereyes with a look timid, tender, and apprehensive, as if she wished andfeared, and hoped and dreaded the presence of some expected object--thenpausing, she drew aside her veil, lest the almost impalpable web shouldintercept the fancied sound which expectation hung on. Thus, as shestood animated by suspenseful love, glowing with the hues of heaven, herup-held veil floating, like a sun-tinged vapour, round her; she lookedlike the tender vision which descends upon Passion’s dream, like thesplendid image, to whose creation Genius entrusts its own immortality.
O woman! Nature, which made you fair, made you fairest in the expressionof this her best feeling; and the most perfect loveliness of a coldinsensibility becomes revolting and deformed, compared to thatintelligence of beauty which rushes upon the countenance from the heartthat is filled with a pure and ardent affection: then thought breathesupon the lip, independent of sound; and the eye images in a glance, allthat the soul could feel in an age!
Unseen, though haply not unexpected, the Missionary stood lost ingazing, and finely illustrated the doctrine which gave birth to hisrecent soliloquy; for in a moment, thought was changed into emotion, andmusing into passion; resolves were shaken, vows were cancelled,sufferings were forgotten; on earth he saw only her, whom a momentbefore he had hoped never to behold again; and from the world offeelings wh
ich had torn his heart, one only now throbbed in its rapidpulse--it was the consciousness of being loved! He saw it in the look,intently fixed upon the path he was wont to take: he saw it on thecheek which lost or caught its colouring from sounds scarce audible: hesaw it in the air, the attitude; he saw it in the very respiration,which gave a tremulous and unequal undulation to the consecratedvestment which shaded, with religious mystery, the vestal’s hallowedbosom. Sight became to him the governing sense of his existence; and theimage which fascinated his eye, absorbed and ruled every faculty of hismind. A moment would decide his destiny--the least movement, and he wasdiscovered to Luxima: a look turned, or a smile directed towards him,and the virtues of his life would avail him nothing.--He trembled, heshuddered!--Love was not only opposed to religion, to reason--in hisbelief, it was at that moment opposed to his eternal salvation! Suddenlystruck by the horrible conviction, he turned his eyes away, and imploredthe assistance of that Heaven he had abandoned. The voice of Luxima camebetween him and his God. His prayer died, unfinished, on his lips. Hepaused, he listened; but that voice, sweet and plaintive as it was,addressed not him--its murmuring sounds, broken and soft, seemed onlyintended for another; for one who had sprung from behind a clump oftrees, and had fallen at her feet--It was the Prince Solyman Sheko!! TheMissionary stood transfixed, as though a blast from Heaven had witheredup his being!
Luxima, apparently agitated by amazement and terror, seemed toexpostulate; but in a voice so tremulous and low, that it scarcely couldhave reached the ear it was intended for.
“Hear me,” said the Prince, abruptly interrupting her, and holding thedrapery of her robe, as if he feared she would escape him; “hear me! Iwho have lived only to command, now stoop to solicit; yet it is noordinary suitor who pleads timidly at thy feet, desponding while hesupplicates--it is one resolved to know the _best_ or _worst_--toconquer thee, or to subdue himself. Amidst the dreams of glory, amidstthe tumults of a warrior’s life, the fame of thy unrivalled beautyreached my ear. I saw thee in the temple of thy gods, and offered tothee that homage thou dost reserve for them. From that moment my soulwas thine. Thy loveliness hung upon me like a spell; and still Iloitered ’midst the scenes thy presence consecrates, while duty andambition, my fame and glory, vainly called me hence. Thy absence fromthe temple where thou dost preside, not more adoring than adored; thyholy seclusion, which all lament, and none dare violate, which even aMussulman respects, blasted my hopes and crossed my dearest views: tillyesterday a mandate from my father left to my heart no time for cooldeliberation. With the shades of evening I sought the consecrated groveforbidden to the foot of man; and for the first time presented myself toeyes whose first glance fixed my destiny. Amazed and trembling, thoudidst seem to hear me in pity and disdain; then thou didst supplicate myabsence--yet still I lingered; but thou didst weep, and I obeyed theomnipotence of those sacred tears--yet, ere I reached the camp, I cursedmy weakness, and, listening only to my imperious passion, returned toseek and sue, perhaps, to conquer and be blessed! But in thy stead, Isaw, or fancied that I saw, some prying Brahmin, some jealous guardianof the vestal Priestess, placed in these shades to guard and to preserveher from the unhallowed homage of human adoration, as if none but theGod she served was worthy to possess her. For thy sake, not for mine, Ifled: but now, while all thy brethren are engaged, performing in theirtemples their solemn evening worship, I come to offer mine to thee. Thesun has _their_ vows--thou hast mine. They offer to its benignantinfluence, prayers of gratitude. Oh! let mine cease to be prayers ofsupplication; for I, like them, am zealous in my idolatry; and thus,like them, devote what yet remains of my existence to my idol’sservice.” He ceased, and gazed, and sighed.
Luxima had heard him in silence, which was only interrupted by brokenexclamations of impatience and apprehension; for her attitude imaged thevery act of flight. The averted head, the advanced step, the strainedeye, the timid disorder of her countenance, all intimated the agitationof a mind, which seemed labouring under the expectation of someapproaching evil. A pause of a moment ensued; and the Prince, construingher silence and emotion as his wishes directed, would have taken herhand. The indignant glance of Luxima met his. There were, in his eyes,more terrors than his words conveyed. She would have fled. The arms ofthe unhallowed infidel were extended to inclose in their fold the sacredform of the vestal Priestess; but an arm, stronger than his, defeatedthe sacrilegious effort, and seizing him in its mighty grasp, flung himto a considerable distance. The Mussulman was stunned: amazement,consternation, and rage, mingled in his darkened countenance. He drew adagger from his girdle, and flew at the intruder--who suddenly dartedforward to ward off the death-blow which threatened him; and, seizingthe up-raised arm of the infuriate Prince, he struggled with hisstrength, and wrenching the weapon from the hand that brandished it,flung it in the air. Then, with a look dignified and calm, he said,“Young stranger, thou wouldest have dishonoured thyself, and destroyedme. I have saved thee from the double crime; give Heaven thanks: returnwhence thou camest; and respect, in future, the sacred asylum ofinnocence, which thy presence and thy professions alike violate.”
The Prince, struck, but not daunted, by a firmness so unexpected,replied, with indignation in his look, and rage storming on his brow,“And who art thou, insolent! who thus darest command? By thy garb andair, thou seemest some adventurer from the West, some wretchedChristian, unconscious that, for the first time, thou art in thepresence of a Prince.”
The large dark eye of the Missionary rolled over the form of the youthin haughtiness and pity. His lips trembled with a rage scarcely stifled,his countenance blazed with the indignant feelings which agitated hismind. He struggled religiously against himself; but the saintly effortwas unequal to combat the human impulse--he paused to recover hiswonted equanimity of manner, and then returned:
“Who am I, thou wouldest know? I am, like thee, young Prince, a man,alive to the dignity of his nature as man, resolved, as able, to defendit; with sinews no less braced than thine, a heart as bold, an arm asstrongly nerved; descended, like thyself, from royal race, and born,perhaps like thee, for toil and warfare, for danger and for conquest:but views of higher aim than those which kings are slaves to, replaced aworldly, with a heavenly object; and he, whom thou hast dared to call awretch, tramples beneath his feet the idle baubles for which thy kindredsteep their hands in brothers’ blood; great in the independence of asoul which God informs, and none but God can move!” The Missionarypaused--the grandeur of his imperious air fading gradually away, likethe declining glories of an evening sky, as all their lustre melts inthe solemn tints of twilight. His eyes fell to the earth, and a cast ofmeekness subdued the fire of their glance, and smoothed the loweringfurrow of his close-knit brow.
“Prince,” he added, “thou didst ask me, who I am.--I am a ChristianMissionary, lowly and poor, who wandered from a distant land, to spreadthe truth my soul adores, to do what good I can, and still to live inpeace and Christian love with thee and all mankind!” He ceased.
Wonder and amazement, shame and disappointment, mingled in theexpressive countenance of the Mussulman: he remained silent, alternatelydirecting his glance towards the Missionary, who stood awfully meek andgrandly humble before him, and to Luxima, who, faint and almostlifeless, leaned against the trunk of a tree, beaming amidst its darkfoliage like a spirit of air, whom the power of enchantment hadspell-bound in the dusky shade. The young and ardent Solyman had nothingto oppose to the speech of the Missionary, and offered no reply; butrushing by him, he fell at the feet of the Priestess. “Fair creature,”he said, “knowest thou this wondrous stranger, and has he any influenceo’er thy mind? for though I hate him as an infidel, yet I would kneel tohim, if he could but move thee in my favour.”
“And what wouldst thou of a Brahmin’s daughter, and a consecratedvestal?” interrupted the Missionary, trembling with agitation; whileLuxima hid her blushing face in her veil.
“I would possess her affections!” returned the impassioned Solyman.
“She
has none to bestow,” said the Missionary, in a faltering voice;“her soul is wedded to Heaven.”
“Perhaps thou lovest her thyself,” said the Prince, rising from the feetof Luxima, and darting a searching glance at the Missionary; whoreplied, while a crimson glow suffused itself even to his brow, “I loveher in Christian charity, as I am bound to love all mankind.”
“And nothing more?” demanded the Prince, with a piercing look.
“Nothing more?” faintly demanded Luxima, turning on him eyes whichmelted with tenderness and apprehension, as if her soul hung upon hisreply.
“Nothing more!” said the Monk, faintly.
“Swear it then,” returned Solyman, while his eyes ran over the anxiouscountenance of the drooping Neophyte, who stood pale and sad, chasingaway with her long hair the tears which swelled to her eyes; “swear it,Christian, by the God you serve.”
“And by what compulsion am I to obey thy orders,” said the Missionaryvehemently, and in unsubdued emotion, “and profane the name of the MostHigh, by taking it in vain, because a boy desires it?”
“Boy! boy!” reiterated the Prince, his lips quivering with rage; then,suddenly recovering himself, he waved his head, and smiledcontemptuously; and turning his eyes on Luxima, whose loveliness becamemore attractive from the tender emotion of her varying countenance, hesaid, “Beautiful Hindu! it is now for thee to decide! Haply thou knowestthis Christian; perhaps thou lovest him! as it is most certain that heloves thee. I also love thee: judge then between us. With me thou maystone day reign upon the throne of India, and yet become the empress ofthine own people; what he can proffer thee, besides his love, I knownot.”
“Besides his love!” faintly repeated Luxima; and a sigh, which came fromher heart, lingered long and trembling on her lips, while she turned herfull eyes upon the Missionary.
“Ah! thou lovest him then?” demanded the Prince, in strong and unsubduedemotion.
“It is my religion now to do so,” replied the Indian, trembling andcovered with blushes; and chasing away her timid tears, she addedfaintly, “Heaven has spoken through his lips to my soul.”
A long pause ensued; the eyes of each seemed studiously turned from theother; and all were alike engrossed by their own secret emotions.Solyman was the first to terminate a silence almost awful.
“Unfortunate Indian!” exclaimed the Prince, with a look of mingled angerand compassion; “thou art then a Christian, and an apostate from thyreligion, and must _forfeit cast_.”
At this denunciation, so dreadful, Luxima uttered a shriek, and fell athis feet, pale, trembling, and in disorder. “Mercy!” she exclaimed,“mercy! recall those dreadful words. Oh! I am not a Christian! not _all_a Christian! His God indeed is mine; but Brahma still receives myhomage: I am still his Priestess, and bound by holy vows to serve him;then save me from my nation’s dreadful curse. It is in thy power only todraw it on my head: for here, hidden from all human eyes, I listen tothe precepts of this holy man, in innocence and truth.”
The Prince gazed on her for a moment, lovely as she lay at his feet, insoftness and in tears; then concealing his face in his robe, he seemedfor some time to struggle with himself; at last he exclaimed, “UnhappyIndian, thou hast my pity! and if from others thou hast nought to hope,from me thou hast nought to fear.” Again he paused and sighedprofoundly; and then, in a low voice, added, “Farewell! Though I havebut thrice beheld thy peerless beauty, I would have placed the universeat thy feet, had I been its master; but the son of the royal Daaracannot deign to struggle, in unequal rivalship, with an obscure andunknown Christian wanderer. Yet still remember, should the imprudence ofthy Christian lover expose thee to the rage of Brahminical intolerance;or thy apostacy call down thy nation’s wrath upon thy head; or shouldaught else endanger thee; seek me where thou mayest, I promise theeprotection and defence.” Then, without directing a glance at theMissionary, he moved with dignity away; and mounting a Tartar horse,whose bridle was thrown over the trunk of a distant tree, he was in amoment out of sight.
The Missionary, overwhelmed, as if for the first time his secret wererevealed even to himself, stood transfixed in the attitude in which thePrince’s last speech had left him; his arms were folded in the darkdrapery of his robe; his eyes cast to the earth; and in his countenancewere mingled expressions of shame and triumph, of passion and remorse,of joy and apprehension. Luxima too remained in the suppliant attitudein which she had thrown herself at the Prince’s feet; not daring toraise those eyes in which a thousand opposite expressions blended theirrays. Solyman had called the Missionary her _lover_; and this epithet,by a strange contrariety of feeling and of prejudice, at once human anddivine, religious and tender, filled her ardent soul with joy and withremorse. The affectionate, the impassioned woman triumphed; but thepure, the consecrated vestal shuddered; and though she still believedher own feelings resembled the pious tenderness of _mystic love_, yetshe trembled to expose them even to herself, and remained buried inconfusion and in shame. A long and awful pause ensued, and the silentsoftness of the twilight no longer echoed the faintest sound; all aroundresembled the still repose of nature, ere the eternal breath had warmedit into life and animation; but all within the souls of the solitarytenants of shades so tranquil was tumult and agitation. At last, Luxima,creeping towards the Missionary, in a faint and tender voice, pronouncedthe dear and sacred epithet of “Father!” He started at the sound, and,turning away his head, sighed profoundly. “Look on me,” said Luxima,timidly; “it is thy child, thy proselyte, who kneels at thy feet; thewrath of Heaven is about to fall heavily on her head; the gods she hasabandoned are armed against her; and the Heaven, to which thou hastlured the apostate, opens not to receive and to protect her.” She tookthe drapery of his robe as she spoke, and wept in its folds. She wasstruck to the soul by the cold resistance of his manner; and beholdingnot the passions which convulsed his countenance, she guessed not atthose which agitated his mind. The instinctive tenderness and delicacyof a woman, whose secret has escaped her, ere an equal confidence hassanctioned the avowal of her love, was deeply wounded; and not knowingthat man, who has so little power over the mere impulse of passion,could subdue, confine, and resist the expressions of his sentiments,she believed that the unguarded discovery of her own feelings hadawakened the abhorrence of a soul so pure and so abstracted as theChristian’s; and, after a pause, which sighs only interrupted, sheadded, “And have I also sinned against thee, for whose sake I have daredthe wrath of the gods of my fathers; and, in declaring the existence ofthat divine love, enchanting and sublime, which thou hast taught me tofeel, that mysterious pledge for the assurance of heavenly bliss, bywhich an object on earth, precious and united, yet distinct from our ownsoul, can----”
“Luxima! Luxima!” interrupted he, in wild and uncontrollable emotion,nor daring to meet the look which accompanied words so dangerous,“cease, as you value my eternal happiness. You know not what you do, norwhat you say. You are confounding ideas which should be eternallydistinct and separate: you deceive yourself, and you destroy me! Theinnocence of your nature, your years, your sex, the purity of yourfeelings, and your soul, must save you; but I! I!--Fatal creature! itmust not be! Farewell, Luxima!--O Luxima! on earth at least we meet nomore!” As he spoke, he disengaged his hand from the clasp of hers, andwould have fled.
“Hear me,” she said, in a faltering voice, and clinging to his robe;“hear me! and then let me die!”
The Missionary heard and shuddered: he knew that the idea of death wasever welcome to an Indian’s mind; and, that the crime of suicide towhich despair might urge its victim, was sanctioned by the religion ofthe country, by its customs and its laws[9]. He paused, he trembled, andturning slowly round, fearfully beheld almost lifeless at his feet, theyoung, the innocent, and lovely woman, who, for his sake, had refused athrone; who, for his sake, was ready to embrace death. “Let you die,Luxima?” he repeated, in a softened voice; and seating himself on abank beside her, he chased away with her veil, the tears which hungtrembling on her faded ch
eek--“Let you die?”
“And wherefore should I live?” she replied with a sigh. “Thou hast tornfrom me the solace of my own religion; and, when I lose thee, when I nolonger look upon or hear thee, who can promise that the faith, to whichthou hast won me from the altars of my ancient gods, will remain tosooth my suffering soul? and, O father! though it should, must I worshipalone and secretly, amidst my kindred and my friends; or, must I, by apublic profession of apostacy, lose my cast, and wander wretched and analien in distant wilds, my nation’s curse and shame? Oh! no; ’t werebest, ere that, I died! for now I shall become a link between thy souland a better, purer state of things; spotless and unpolluted, I shallreach the realms of peace, and a part of thyself will have gone beforethee to the bosom of that great Spirit, of which we are alikeemanations. O father!” she added, with a mixture of despair and passionin her look and voice, “’t were best that _now_ I died; and that I diedfor _thee_.”
“For me, Luxima! for me!” repeated the Missionary, in a frenzied accent,and borne away by a variety of contending and powerful emotions--“diefor me! and yet it is denied _me_ even to _live_ for thee!--And live Inot for thee? O woman! alike fatal and terrific to my senses and mysoul, thou hast offered thy life as a purchase of my secret--and it isthine! Now then, behold prostrate at thy feet, one who, till thisdreadful moment, never bent his knee to ought but God alone; behold,thus grovelling on the earth, the destruction thou hast effected, theruin thou hast made! behold the unfortunate, whose force has submittedto thy weakness; whom thou hast dragged from the proudest eminence ofsanctity and virtue, to receive the law of his existence from thy look,the hope of his felicity from thy smile; for know, frail as thou maystbe, in all thy fatal fondness, he is frailer still; and that thou, wholovest with all a seraph’s purity, art beloved with all the sinfultyranny of human passion, strengthened by restraint, and energized bybeing combated. Now then, all consecrated as thou art to heaven; allpure and vestal by thy vows and life; save, if thou canst, the wretchwhom thou hast made; for, lost alike to heaven and to himself, he looksalone _to thee_ for his redemption!” As he spoke, he fell prostrate andalmost lifeless on the earth: for two days no food had passed his lips;for two nights no sleep had closed his eyes; passion and honour,religion and love, opposed their conflicts in his mind; nature sunkbeneath the struggle, and he lay lifeless at the feet of her who had forever destroyed the tranquillity of his conscience, and renderedvalueless the sacrifices of his hitherto pure, sinless, and self-denyinglife.
Luxima, trembling and terrified, yet blessed in her sufferings, andenergized by those strong affections which open an infinite resource towoman in the hour of her trial, gently raised his head from the earthand chafed his forehead with the drops which a neighbouring lotos-leafhad treasured from the dews of the morning. He loved her; he had toldher so; and she again repeated in her felicity, as she had done in herdespair, “It were best that now I died!”
