“I see in your eyes that you are happy, and so may God bless you!  Go forth into the world and teach it by your example, that for a woman there is no happiness but love, no bliss but that of resting in the arms of her lover.  But am I not too simply clad?” cried she, interrupting herself suddenly, and examining herself critically in the glass.  “Yes, indeed, that simple, silly child is not worthy of such a handsome and splendid cavalier:  a white silk dress and nothing else!  How thoughtless and foolish has happiness made me!  My Heaven!  I forgot that he comes from the land of diamonds, and that he is a prince.  Oh!  I will adorn myself for my prince.”  And she took from her desk the costly set of diamonds, the legacy of her mother, and fastened the glittering brilliants in her ears, on her arms, and the necklace set with diamonds and emeralds around her snow-white neck.

“Now that looks splendid,” said she, as she surveyed herself again.  “Now perhaps I may please him.  But the last ornament is still wanting—­my myrtle-wreath—­but that my father shall put on.”  Looking at the wreath, she continued, in a more serious and sad tone:  “Crown of love and of death! it is woven in the maiden’s hair when she dies as a maiden, whether it be to arise again as a wife or as a purified spirit.”  And raising her tearful eyes to heaven, she exclaimed:  “I thank Thee, O God, for granting me all this happiness.  My whole life, my whole future, shall evince but gratitude toward Thee, who art the God of love.”

Soon, however, it became too close and solitary in this silent chamber.  She wished to go to her father, to throw herself on his breast, to pour out to him all her happiness, her affection, her joy, in words of thankfulness, of tender child-like love.  How the white satin dress rustled and shone! how the diamonds sparkled and glittered, as, meteor-like, they flitted down the dark corridor!  With a bright, happy smile, holding the wreath in her hand, she stepped into her father’s room.  But the apartment was empty.  She crossed it in haste to seek him in his study.  The doors were locked and no one answered her loud calls.  She supposed he had gone out, and would doubtless soon return.  She sat down to await him, and soon sank into deep thought and reverie.  What sweet and precious dreams played around her, and greeted her with happy bodings of the future!

The door opened, and she started up to meet her father.  But it was not her father—­it was Bertram.  And how altered—­how pale and troubled he looked!  He hardly noticed her, and his eye gleamed on her without seeing her.  What was it that had so changed him?  Perhaps he already knew that she was to be married to-day, and that her lover, so long mourned, had returned to her.  She asked confusedly and anxiously for her father.

“My God! is he not here, then?” asked Bertram in reply.  “I must speak to him, for I have things of the greatest importance to tell him.”