ild, is the most
important step in life, and I do not wish you to take that step without
fully understanding the promptings of your own dear heart. Only misery
can follow the union of two souls not in perfect accord, not entirely
devoted the one to the other. I am much older than you, Haydee, and my
sufferings have aged me still more than years. I am a sad and weary
man. You, on the contrary, stand just upon the threshold of existence;
the world and its pleasures are all before you. Think, my child, think
deeply before you pronounce the irrevocable vow."

Haydee threw herself passionately upon Monte-Cristo's breast.

"My lord," she cried, in accents broken by extreme agitation and
emotion, "am I not your slave?"

"No, Haydee," answered the Count, his bosom heaving and his eyes
lighting up with a strange flash, "you are free, your fate rests in your
own hands."

"Then," said the young girl, ardently, "I will decide it this very
instant. I accept my freedom that I may voluntarily offer myself to you,
my love, my husband. You have suffered. Granted. So have I. Your
sufferings have aged you; mine have transformed a child into a woman--a
woman who knows the promptings of her heart, who knows that it beats for
you, and you alone in all the world. My lord, I resign myself to you. Do
you accept the gift?"

As Haydee concluded, her beautiful eyes were suffused with tears and her
whole frame quivered with intense excitement.

Monte-Cristo bent down and kissed her upon the forehead.

"Haydee, my own Haydee," he said, with a slight tremor in his manly
voice, "I accept the gift. Be my wife, the wife of Monte-Cristo, and no
effort of mine shall be wanting to assure your happiness."

At that moment there was a sinister flash in the heavens, that were as
yet without a cloud. The livid light shot downward to the water and
seemingly plunged to the depths of the Mediterranean.

The Count gave a start and drew his beloved Haydee closer to him; the
frightened girl trembled from head to foot and clung to him for
protection.

"Oh! my lord, my lord," she murmured, "does Heaven disapprove of our
plighted troth?"

"Calm yourself, Haydee," answered Monte-Cristo. "The lightning is God's
seal, and He has set it upon our betrothal."

The flash was now repeated and was succeeded by several others of
increased intensity, but as yet no thunder rolled and there was not the
slightest indication of an approaching storm.

Monte-Cristo took