is whole soul was absorbed in the wild wish to see her
again, and the thoughts of death for her had never entered his heart.
The shock, then, had been terrible, and to realize the infinite mercy
which thus bade sorrow cease, was in such a moment impossible. He
could but gaze and clasp her closer and closer, yet, as if even death
should be averted by his love.

"Uncle Julien," she murmured, as she faintly extended her hand towards
him, "thou wilt not refuse to clasp hands with one who has so loved
thy Marie! And thou, Arthur, oh! scorn him not. Without him the
invisible dungeons of the Inquisition would have been my grave, and
thine that of a dishonored knight and suspected murderer."

The eyes of her companions met, and their hands were grasped in that
firm pressure, betraying unity of feeling, and reciprocal esteem,
which need no words.

"Raise me a little, dearest Arthur; uncle Julien" put back that
spreading bough. I would say something more, and the fresher air may
give me strength. Ah! the evening breeze is so fresh and sweet; it
always makes me feel as if the spirits of those we loved were hovering
near us. We hold much closer and dearer communion with the beloved
dead in the calm twilight than in the garish day. Arthur, dearest,
thou wilt think of me sometimes in an hour like this."

"When shall I not think of thee?" he passionately rejoined. "Oh,
Marie, Marie! I thought separation on earth the worst agony that could
befall me; but what--what is it compared to the eternal one of death?"

"No, no, not eternal, Arthur. In heaven I feel there is no distinction
of creed or faith; we shall all love God and one another there, and
earth's fearful distinctions can never come between us. I know such
is not the creed of thy people, nor of some of mine; but when thou
standest on the verge of eternity, as I do now, thou wilt feel this
too."

"How can I gaze on thee, and not believe it?" he replied. "The loudest
thunders of the church could not shake my trust in the purity of
heaven, which is thine."

"Because thou lovest, Arthur. Thy love for Marie is stronger than thy
hatred of her race; and, oh! if thou lovest thus, I know thou hast
forgiven."

"Forgiven!" he passionately reiterated.

"Yes, dearest Arthur. Is the past indeed so obliterated that the wrong
I did thee is forgotten even as forgiven? But, oh, Arthur! it was not
so unjustifiable as it seemed then. I dared not breathe the truth in
Isabella's court. I