ove another, would have been misery enough;
but that she should be capable of a dishonourable amour, shocked him
to the soul. The idea of deception in so young and apparently artless
a being, brought with it that sudden distrust in human nature, so
sickening to a youthful and ingenuous mind; but when he thought of the
kind, simple parent she was deceiving, whose affections all centred in
her, he felt for a moment a sentiment of indignation, and almost of
aversion.

He found the alchymist still seated in his visionary contemplation of
the moon. "Come hither, my son," said he, with his usual enthusiasm,
"come, read with me in this vast volume of wisdom, thus nightly
unfolded for our perusal. Wisely did the Chaldean sages affirm, that
the heaven is as a mystic page, uttering speech to those who can
rightly understand; warning them of good and evil, and instructing
them in the secret decrees of fate."

The student's heart ached for his venerable master; and, for a moment,
he felt the futility of his occult wisdom. "Alas! poor old man!"
thought he, "of what avails all thy study? Little dost thou dream,
while busied in airy speculations among the stars, what a treason
against thy happiness is going on under thine eyes; as it were, in thy
very bosom!--Oh Inez! Inez! where shall we look for truth and
innocence, where shall we repose confidence in woman, if even you can
deceive?"

It was a trite apostrophe, such as every lover makes when he finds his
mistress not quite such a goddess as he had painted her. With the
student, however, it sprung from honest anguish of heart. He returned
to his lodgings, in pitiable confusion of mind. He now deplored the
infatuation that had led him on until his feelings were so thoroughly
engaged. He resolved to abandon his pursuits at the tower, and trust
to absence to dispel the fascination by which he had been spellbound.
He no longer thirsted after the discovery of the grand elixir: the
dream of alchymy was over; for, without Inez, what was the value of
the philosopher's stone?

He rose, after a sleepless night, with the determination of taking his
leave of the alchymist, and tearing himself from Granada. For several
days did he rise with the same resolution, and every night saw him
come back to his pillow, to repine at his want of resolution, and to
make fresh determinations for the morrow. In the meanwhile, he saw
less of Inez than ever. She no longer walked in the garden, but
remained