14 MYSTERIES or MEMORY. 



raven grey; a fiyhu of Brussels shades her bosom, and she 

 wears u cap of the same material; a cross of burnished gold is 

 suspended from her neck, and pendants of the same glitter in 

 her ears. She is of the middle size; in person slender and 

 graceful; and the exquisite adjustment of her attire, as remote 

 from negligence as it is from a too formal precision, enhances 

 the attractions of her figure. Her features are fraught with 

 interest indescribable, and her brilliant eyes seem fitted to express 

 every emotion of the heart and mind. A tender colour, " delicate 

 as that of the rose-leaf," reigns upon her cheek, and deepens into 

 ruby upon a lip invested with the thrilling charms of intellect 

 and sweetness. * * * 



The lady enters the apartment, and seating herself at the 

 table, takes up the needle; presently she drops it — she cannot 

 pursue her task; the book arrests her attention — what is it? 

 " Corinne" — the mighty genius of De Stael for once fails in its 

 command, and the volume is laid aside. Something of import is 

 passing in the lady's thoughts, and, by degrees, an air of perturba- 

 tion supersedes the abstraction of her mien. She rises — she 

 paces the room, throwing hurried and eager glances upon the 

 time-piece : she draws near to the piano, strikes a chord or two 

 mechanically, then, as though soothed by the power of music, 

 plays the first bars of a touching melody ; a canary, caged on 

 high, is wakened by the sounds, and, happy in his vassalage, the 

 feathered prisoner twitters a few notes in response ; his mistress 

 heeds them not — her interest circles round a wider orbit, and the 

 favourite is forgotten. 



A silver chime proclaims the hour of seven — the lady starts 

 from the instrument ; strong but transient agitation is visible in 

 her countenance, — pride and tenderness struggle for ascendancy, 

 and the former is victorious. A knock is heard — some one is 

 announced, and a well-remembered footstep echoes upon the 

 stairs. In another instant the door is unclosed, and the dark- 

 haired stranger stands before the lady — the forsaken appeals to 

 the forsaken. 



The stranger presents a sealed paper to the lady, who, with 

 haughty self-possession, opens and peruses it. Wrapped in a 

 cloak of shadowy green, the bearer stands aloof, and gazes upon 

 the reader with a thrilling and tremulous tenderness ; dark 

 chesnut curls sit, loosely, round the stranger's head, contrasting 

 with the death-like paleness of a brow and cheek which malady, 

 as well as care, has blanched. As the lady draws to the con- 

 clusion of the paper — as she reads the direct acknowledgment of 

 error and repentance — the command, the indiflference which she 

 had struggled to assume, gradually desert her; she looks towards 

 the writer — pity softens into a warmer sentiment — the trans- 

 gressor is forgiven — she rises precipitately, and a sudden hectic 

 flashes across the face of the stranger, whose outstretched arms 

 enfold the lady in a long and rapturous embrace. The vision dies. 



