he fascination of her
gracefulness, yet was I scarcely conscious of the actual presence of her
whose ideal existence was torturing my brain.

To the cold, the unimpassioned, or the unpoetical, this may seem
impossible. I will not go into metaphysical reasonings on the subject.
I only know that it was true. Whilst I was conceiving her flying from
oppression with me, her protector, into some grim solitude, she came and
placed herself, almost unnoticed, by my side, took my unresisting hands
between her own, and, seeing how little I appeared to notice the
endearment, she gradually sank on her knees before me, and, placing her
forehead upon my hands, remained for a space in silence. Feeling her
hot tears trickling through my fingers called me back from my dark
reverie: and, as I became aware of the present, a sigh so deep and so
long burst forth, that it seemed to rend my bosom.

Those dark, lustrous, melancholy eyes, swimming in tears, were then
lifted up to mine. Ages of eloquence were contained in that one look.
In it, I read the whole story of her life, the depth of her love, the
fealty of her faith, and the deep, the unspeakable prayer for sympathy,
for love, and for protection. The mute appeal was unanswerable. It
seemed to be conveyed to me by the voice of destiny, to my mind, louder
and more awful than thunder. At that moment, I pledged myself eternally
to her; and, gradually drawing up her yielding, light, and elastic form
from my knees to my bosom, I sobbed out, "Whilst I breathe, dearest,
thou shalt never writhe under the lash;" and then, giving way to an
uncontrollable passion of weeping, I mingled my tears with hers--and we
were happy. Yes, our young love was baptised with tears--an ominous and
a fitting rite. We cried in each other's arms like children, as we
were; at first, with anguish; then, with hope and affection; and, at
length, in all the luxury of a new-born bliss.

When this passion had a little subsided, and smiles, and murmuring
ejaculations of happiness, had driven away the symbols of what is not
always anguish, old Manuel approached, and appeared much pleased at the
tokens of affection that we mutually lavished upon each other. And
then, with my arm encircling Josephine's slender waist, and her fair
face upon my shoulder, he began his artful discourse. Gradually, he led
me to speak of myself, my friends, my views; and, ultimately, my strange
and mysterious story was fully unfolded. Ev