her parent, as
if anxious to impart to him the consolation she enjoyed.

"Oh, I am happy, my father!" Here a sudden change was visible,--some
chord of sorrow was touched, and it vibrated to her soul.

Her father spoke not.

"I _have_ loved!--Oh, faithfully. But, now--let me die without a murmur
to Thee, or one wish but Thy will, and I am happy!" She raised her soft
and streaming eyes towards the throne of that Mercy she addressed. The
cloud passed, but she sank back on her pillow, exhausted with the
conflict. Her father bent over her in silent terror, anticipating the
last struggle. Suddenly he exclaimed, as if to call back the yet
lingering spirit:--

"Live, my Constance! Could I save thee, thou blighted bud--blighted by
my"--His lip grew pale; he struck his forehead, and a groan like the
last expiring throe of nature escaped him.

"Would the destroyer of my peace were here!--'Tis too late--or I would
not now forbid thy love. But he was a traitor, a rebel--else"----

Constance gradually revived from her insensibility. A sudden flash from
the departing spirit seemed to have animated her--a new and vehement
energy, which strangely contrasted with her weak and debilitated frame.

"I have seen him," she cried. "Oh, methought his form passed before
me;--but it is gone!" She looked eagerly round the apartment; other eyes
involuntarily followed,--but no living object could be distinguished
through the chill and oppressive gloom that brooded over that chamber of
death.

"It was a vision--a shadowy messenger from the tomb. Yet, once more if I
might see him--ere I die." A deep sob, succeeded by a rapid gush of
tears, relieved her; but it told of the powerful and all-pervading
passion not yet extinguished in her breast.

"We shall meet!" again she raised her eyes towards that throne to which
the sigh of the sufferer never ascended in vain.

"Yes, my own--my loved Constance, now!" cried the stranger, rushing from
his concealment. He clasped her in his arms. A gleam, like sunlight
across the wave, shot athwart the shadow that was gathering on her eye.
It seemed the forerunner of a change. The anxious father forbore to
speak, but he looked on his daughter with an agony that seemed to
threaten either reason or existence. Constance gazed on her lover, but
her eye gradually became more dim. Her band relaxed in his grasp, yet
her features wore a look of serenity and happiness.

"O most merciful Father! Thou hast heard my pr