altered, dissipated the disquietude which the first had excited in the
heart of Oswald, and he continued, undisturbed by any fears, to
discourse with Corinne concerning his father.

The physicians arrived and dissipated somewhat the alarm of Corinne; but
they absolutely forbade Lord Nelville to speak till the ruptured
blood-vessel was perfectly closed. For a period of six whole days
Corinne never quitted Oswald, and prevented him from uttering a word,
gently imposing silence upon him whenever he wished to speak. She found
the art of varying the hours by reading, music, and sometimes by a
conversation of which the burden was supported by herself alone; now
serious, now playful, her animation of spirits kept up a continual
interest. All this charming and amiable attention concealed that
disquietude which internally preyed upon her, and which it was so
necessary to conceal from Lord Nelville; though she herself did not
cease one instant to be a martyr to it. She perceived almost before
Oswald himself what he suffered, nor was she deceived by the courage he
exerted to conceal it; she always anticipated everything that would be
likely to relieve him; only endeavouring to fix his attention as little
as possible upon her assiduous cares for him. However, when Oswald
turned pale, the colour would also abandon the lips of Corinne; and her
hands trembled when stretched to his assistance; but she struggled
immediately to appear composed, and often smiled when her eyes were
suffused with tears. Sometimes she pressed the hand of Oswald against
her heart, as if she would willingly impart to him her own life. At
length her cares succeeded, and Oswald recovered.

"Corinne," said he to her, as soon as he was permitted to speak: "why
has not Mr Edgermond, my friend, witnessed the days which you have spent
by my bedside? He would have seen that you are not less good than
admirable; he would have seen that domestic life with you is a scene of
continual enchantment, and that you only differ from every other woman,
by adding to every virtue the witchery of every charm. No, it is too
much--this internal conflict which rends my heart, and that has just
brought me to the brink of the grave, must cease. Corinne, thou shalt
know my secrets though thou concealest from me thine--and thou shalt
decide upon our fate."--"Our fate," answered Corinne, "if you feel as I
do, is never to part. But will you believe me that, till now, I have
not dared even