friend in a dilemma. I turned for
relief from the sarcastic father to the beautiful countenance of the
daughter, and I there beheld an expression of intense sorrow that
agonised me. Her sudden, and, to me, totally unexpected animation, had
disappeared. Melancholy seemed to have drooped her darkest wings over
her. I thought that she must soon die under their noxious shadow. For
one instant my eyes caught hers: I could not stand the appeal.

"I will stay," said I, gently, "until the ship sails."

I had then, for the first time, to witness the enthusiasm of the
melancholy temperament--the eloquence of unschooled nature. The bending
figure that seemed to collapse in weakness upon my supporting arm,
suddenly flung herself from me; her rounded and delicate figure swelled
at once into sudden dignity; her muscles assumed the rigidity, yet all
the softness of a highly-polished Grecian statue; and stood before me,
as if by enchantment, half woman, half marble, beautiful inexpressibly.
I was sorely tried. There was no action, no waving of the arms, as she
spoke. Her voice came forth musically, as if from sacred oracle, that
oracle having life only in words. Monsieur Manuel had very wisely
departed.

"Not an hour--not a minute--not an instant, or--_for ever_! Young sir,
you have already stayed too long, if you stay not always. Leave me to
dream of you, and to die. The thorn is in my heart; it may kill me
gradually. Go. Why, sir, have you looked upon me as man never before
looked? Why, why have you mingled your false tears with mine, that were
so true--and, oh, so loving! But what am I, who thus speak so proudly
to a being whom, if I did not know he was treacherous, I should think an
angel? (_Un des bons esprits_.) I, a poor, weak, ignorant girl of
colour--born of a slave, to a slavery--whose only ambition was to have
been loved, loved for a short, short while--for know, that I am to die
early--I should not have troubled you long. But you are too good for
me--I was a presumptuous fool. Go, and at once, and take with you all
that I have to give--the blessing of a young-born bonds-woman."

All this time she had stood firmly and nearly motionless, with her hands
folded beneath her heaving bosom, at some distance from me. I
approached her with extended arms, and had some such foolish rhapsody on
my tongue as "Beautiful daughter of the sun," for I had already
contemplated her under a new character, when, retreati