exists--deep, eternal,
holy love. I feel it now. Auriola, I, whose arms never encircled
maiden yet--I love thee, Auriola, with every fibre of my body--with
every faculty of my soul. I will be thine--thine for ever; be thou
mine, my Auriola!'

"'BE CONSTANT!' The words were uttered in the clear voice of Auriola;
as if from the air. Bolko saw the lovely form grow pale, felt her
vanishing, at his heart. The brilliant cloud of butterflies arose from
the spring, and flew towards heaven by a hundred roads. A thin misty
streak sank into the grotto. Bolko was alone upon the barren moor.
Sultry vapours were exhaling in the twilight. Indescribable sensations
preyed on the soul of Bolko, as he remembered that he had given his
heart to one who was no longer a dweller upon earth--that he had
plighted his faith to the Maiden of the Moor. He hurried from the
scene of his unhallowed engagement, to seek from the wisdom of his
Hubert consolation for the peace of mind which had been so sadly
disturbed, if not for ever taken from him.

* * * * *

"The priest listened to the account of Auriola's appearance with
secret delight, and did not fail to comfort the unhappy youth. Bolko,
restored to peace, passed the night in blissful dreams. Once more the
sweet form of the Moor Maiden floated before him--once more the
magical pictures gleamed, ravishing his senses. With sunrise he
quitted the castle, and obeyed the sorcery that allured him to the
moor. All fear and alarm had disappeared. Solitude, erewhile so
hateful to him, was now enchanting! The stony, brown, and barren
plain, the gloomy confines of the wood, the vapours of the boggy soil,
united to create an earthly paradise. He took his seat upon the
margin of the limpid spring, and, gazing on the charmed waters,
invoked the presence of the fair magician. Auriola, however, appeared
not. At noon he quitted the moor unsatisfied, but the approach of
evening found him there again. Still she came not, and nothing
remained to assure him of the reality of his former interview but the
illuminated winged cloud of butterflies which, like a living rainbow,
overarched the spring. Impatient and distressed, the ardent lover
scoured the extensive moor, and at last approached the borders of the
forest. Suddenly he saw--scarce twenty paces from him--the wished-for
figure gliding through the rustling grass, the earthen pitcher
drooping from her hand. Auriola regarded him not,