will?" It was,
however, a terrible task for Oswald to return to Corinne, after what had
passed the evening before, without saying something in confirmation of
the sentiments which he had expressed. His agitation and his trouble
became so violent, that they affected a ruptured blood-vessel which he
thought had completely healed up, but which now re-opened and began to
bleed afresh. Whilst his servants, in affright, called everywhere for
assistance, he secretly wished that the end of life might terminate his
sufferings.--"If I could die," said he, "after having seen Corinne once
more, after having heard her again call me her Romeo!"--Tears rolled
down his cheeks; they were the first tears he had shed for the sake of
another since the death of his father.

He wrote to Corinne informing her of his accident, and some melancholy
words terminated his letter. Corinne had begun this day under the most
deceitful auspices: happy in the impression she conceived she had made
upon Oswald, believing herself beloved, she was happy; nor did busy
thought conjure up any reflection not in unison with what she so much
desired. A thousand circumstances ought to have mingled considerable
fear with the idea of espousing Lord Nelville; but as there was more
passion than foresight in her character, governed by the present, and
not diving into the future, this day, which was to cost her so many
pangs, dawned upon her as the most pure and serene of her life.

On receiving Oswald's note, her soul was a prey to the most cruel
feelings: she believed him in imminent danger, and set out immediately
on foot, traversing the Corso at the hour when all the city were walking
there, and entered the house of Oswald in face of all the first society
of Rome. She had not taken time to reflect, and had walked so fast, that
when she reached the chamber, she could not breathe, or utter a single
word. Lord Nelville conceived all that she had risked to come and see
him, and exaggerating the consequences of this action, which in England
would have entirely ruined the reputation of an unmarried woman, he felt
penetrated with generosity, love, and gratitude, and rising up, feeble
as he was, he pressed Corinne to his heart, and cried:--"My dearest
love! No, I never will abandon you! After having exposed yourself on my
account! When I ought to repair--" Corinne comprehended what he would
say, and as she gently disengaged herself from his arms, interrupted him
thus, havi