uck, by this declaration,
that I could not utter a word. I stood gazing at her with open lips. I
felt a mist gathering over my eyes; a strange sensation about my heart
chilled my whole frame. I tottered to the sofa and pressed my hand in
pain upon my eyes; when I withdrew it, I was alone--Clotilde was gone,
she had vanished with the silence of a vision.

I left the house immediately, in a state of mind which seemed like a
dissolution of all my faculties. I could not speak--I could scarcely
see--I could only gasp for air, and retain sufficient power over my
limbs to guide my steps to my melancholy dwelling. There I threw myself
on my rough bed, and lingered throughout the day in an exhaustion of
mind and body, which I sometimes thought to be the approach of death.
How little could Clotilde have intended that I should suffer thus for
her high-toned delicacy! Still, in all my misery of soul, I did her
justice. I remembered the countenance of melancholy beauty with which
she announced her final determination. The accents of her impassioned
voice continually rose in my recollection, giving the deepest testimony
of a heart struggling at once with affection and a sense of duty. In my
wildest reveries during that day and night of wretchedness, I felt that,
if she could have spared me a single pang, she would have rejoiced to
cheer, to console, to tranquillize me. Those were strange feelings for a
rejected lover, but they were entirely mine. There was so lofty a spirit
in her glance, so true a sincerity in her language, so pure and
transparent a truth in her sighs, and smiles, and involuntary tears,
that I acquitted her, from my soul, of all attempts to try, or triumph
over, my devotion to her. More than once, during that night of anguish,
I almost imagined the scene of the day actually passing again before my
eyes. I saw her sorrows, and vainly endeavoured to subdue them; I heard
her convulsive tones, and attempted to calm them; I reasoned with her,
talked of our common helplessness, acknowledged the dignity and the
delicacy of her conduct, and even gave her lip the kiss of peace and
sorrow as I bade her farewell. Deep but exquisite illusion! which I
cherished, and strove to renew; until, suddenly aroused by some changing
of the sentinels, or passing of the attendants, I looked round, and saw
nothing but the gloomy roof, the old flickering of the huge lantern
hanging from the centre of the hall, and the beds where so many had
s