only as in a glass darkly; there, in our final
destiny, we reach the fulness of our happiness. I am not melancholy, but
resigned; and resignation has a peace peculiar to itself; a repose which
draws us gently, for a little time, out of the memory of our sorrows;
but without refreshing the heart--without refreshing the heart. No,
papa, I am not melancholy--I am not melancholy; I could bear Charles's
death, and look up to my God for strength and support under it; but,"
she added, shaking her head, with a smile marked by something of a wild
meaning, "if he could forget me for another,--no I will not say for
another, but if he could only forget me, and his vows of undying
affection, then indeed--then--then--papa--ha!--no--no--he could not--he
could not."

This conversation, when repeated to the family, deeply distressed them,
involved in doubt and uncertainty as they were with respect to Osborne's
ultimate intentions. Until a reply, however, should be received to his
father's letter, which was written expressly to demand an explanation
on that point, they could only soothe the unhappy girl in the patient
sorrow which they saw gathering in her heart. That, however, which
alarmed them most, was her insuperable disrelish to any thing in the
shape of consolation or sympathy. This, to them, was indeed a new trait
in the character of one who had heretofore been so anxious to repose
the weight of her sufferings upon the bosoms of those who loved her.
Her chief companion now was Ariel, her dove, to which she was seen
to address herself with a calm, smiling aspect, not dissimilar to
the languid cheerfulness of an invalid, who might be supposed as yet
incapable from physical weakness to indulge in a greater display
of animal spirits. Her walks, too, were now all solitary, with the
exception of her mute companion, and it was observed that she never,
in a single instance, was known to traverse any spot over which she and
Osborne had not walked together. Here she would linger, and pause, and
muse, and address Ariel, as if the beautiful creature were capable of
comprehending the tenor of her language.

"Ariel," said she one day, speaking to the bird; "there is the yew tree,
under which your preserver and I first disclosed our love. The yew tree,
sweet bird, is the emblem of death, and so it will happen; for Charles
is dying, I know--I feel that he will die; and I will die, early; we
will both die early; for I would not be able to live