Completely overcome by his own passionate description, he bowed his head on her knees, and wept aloud.  He had succeeded in rousing his own sympathy; he believed in his own grief.  He had so feelingly played the part of a repentant sinner, an ardent lover, that for a moment probability and reality had become blended in one, and he felt himself thoroughly possessed by crushing repentance.

But Elise believed in him.  His voice sounded like music in her ear, and every fibre of her heart thrilled and quivered.  The past with its griefs and sorrows was gone forever, he was once more there, with no stranger to come between them, and she only felt that she loved him without bounds.

He embraced her knees, looking pleadingly up in her face.  “Elise, forgive me,” cried he; “say but one word, ‘Pardon,’ and I will go away in silence, and never again dare to approach you.”

Elise had no longer power to withstand him.  She opened her arms, and threw them with passionate tenderness around his neck.  “Feodor, love does not forgive, it loves,” she cried with unspeakable rapture, and tears of delight burst from her eyes.

Feodor uttered a cry of joy, and sprang up to draw her to his breast, to cover her face with kisses, to whisper words of delight, of tenderness, of passionate love, in her listening ear.  “Oh! now all is right again—­now you are again mine.  These four years are as if they had not been.  It was all a mournful dream—­and we are now awake.  Now we know that we love each other, that we belong to each other, forever.  Come, Elise, it is the same hour which then called us to the altar.  Come, the priest waits.  For four long years have I hoped for this hour.  Come, my beloved.”

He threw his strong arm around her and raised her to his breast to draw her forth with him.  As Elise drew herself gently back, he continued still more passionately:  “I will not let you go, for you are mine.  You have betrothed yourself to me for life or death.  Come, the priest is waiting, and to-day shall you be my wife.  This time no unfriendly hand shall impose itself between us, and Lodoiska no longer lives.”

“But my father lives,” said Elise, as earnestly and proudly she freed herself from Feodor’s arms.  “Without his consent I do not leave this threshold.  It was for that the Lord punished us.  My father’s blessing was not upon our love, and I had sinned grievously against him.  Now, it is expiated, and Fate is appeased.  Let us go hand in hand to my father, and ask his blessing on our love, that love which has remained undiminished through so many years of grief.”

“I submit to you.  I will obey your will in every thing.  But will not your father reject me?  I feel that he must hate me for the tears I have caused you to shed.”

“He will love you when he sees that you have taught me to smile once more,” said she gently.  “Come to my father.”

She wished to draw him along with her.  But his consciousness of guilt held him back.  He wanted the daring courage to face this man whom he had been sent to ruin; and involuntarily he shrank back from his own deeds.  “I dare not go before him so suddenly and unprepared,” said he hesitatingly.