her silk dress. The moonlight fell in
fitful, straggling gleams between the leafy branches, and showed me her
countenance, pale as marble. Her eyes were upturned slightly; her brown
hair, divided upon her fair forehead, sparkled with a wreath of brilliants,
which heightened the lustrous effect of her calm beauty; and now I could
perceive her dress bespoke that she had been at some of the splendid
entertainments which followed day after day in the busy capital.

Thus I stood within a few paces of _her_, to be near to whom, a few hours
before, I would willingly have given all I possessed in the world; and yet
now a barrier, far more insurmountable than time and space, intervened
between us; still it seemed as though fortune had presented this incident
as a last farewell between us. Why should I not take advantage of it? Why
should I not seize the only opportunity that might ever occur of rescuing
myself from the apparent load of ingratitude which weighed on my memory?
I felt in the cold despair of my heart that I could have no hold upon her
affection; but a pride, scarce less strong that the attachment that gave
rise to it, urged me to speak. By one violent effort I summoned up my
courage; and while I resolved to limit the few words I should say merely
to my vindication, I prepared to advance. Just at this instant, however, a
shadow crossed the path; a rustling sound was heard among the branches, and
the tall figure of a man in a dragoon cloak stood before me. Lucy turned
suddenly at the sound; but scarcely had her eyes been bent in the
direction, when, throwing off his cloak, he sprang forward and dropped at
her feet. All my feeling of shame at the part I was performing was now
succeeded by a sense of savage and revengeful hatred. It was enough that
I should be brought to look upon her whom I had lost forever without the
added bitterness of witnessing her preference for a rival. The whirlwind
passion of my brain stunned and stupefied me. Unconsciously I drew my sword
from my scabbard, and it was only as the pale light fell upon the keen
blade that the thought flashed across me, "What could I mean to do?"

"No, Hammersley,"--it was he indeed,--said she, "it is unkind, it is
unfair, nay, it is unmanly to press me thus; I would not pain you, were
it not that, in sparing you now, I should entail deeper injury upon you
hereafter. Ask me to be your sister, your friend; ask me to feel proudly
in your triumphs, to glory in your s