at would she think of his absence now?--an absence for which he
had not prepared her, and which was not on this occasion justified by
any petulance or willfulness on her part? The idea was maddening, but
there was no alternative.

It was noon on the ensuing day when Fernand Wagner, pale and care-worn,
again sought that spot on the strand where the rudely constructed
cottage stood; but Nisida was not within the hut. He roved along the
shore to a considerable distance, and still beheld her not. Terrible
alarms now oppressed him. Could she have done some desperate deed to rid
herself of an existence whereof she was weary? or had some fatal
accident befallen her. From the shore he hastened to the valley; and
there, seated by the side of the crystal stream, he beheld the object of
his search. He ran--he flew toward her; but she seemed not to observe
him; and when he caught a glimpse of her countenance, he shrank back in
dismay--it was so pale, and yet so expressive of deep, concentrated
rage!

But we cannot linger on this portion of our tale. Suffice it to say that
Wagner exerted all his eloquence, all his powers of persuasion to induce
Nisida to turn a kind glance upon him; and it was only when, goaded to
desperation by her stern silence and her implacable mien, he exclaimed,
"Since I am no longer worthy of even a look or a syllable, I will quit
thee forever!" It was only when these words conveyed to Nisida a
frightful menace of loneliness, that she relented and gradually suffered
herself to be appeased. But vainly did she question him relative to the
cause of his absence on this occasion; he offered a variety of excuses,
and she believed none of them.

The month that followed was characterized by many quarrels and disputes;
for Nisida's soul acquired all the restlessness which had marked it ere
she was thrown on the island, but which solitude at first and then the
possession of Wagner, had for a time so greatly subdued. Nevertheless,
there were still occasions when she would cling to Wagner with all the
confiding fondness of one who remembered how he had saved her life from
the hideous anaconda, and who looked up to him as her only joy and
solace in that clime, the beauty of which became painful with its
monotony--yes, she would cling to him as they roved along the sands
together--she would gaze up into his countenance, and as she read
assurances of the deepest affection in his fine dark eyes, she would
exclaim rapturou