Corinne abandoned herself to the charms of this evening, and was penetrated with joy; nor could Oswald conceal the emotion they inspired—­many times he pressed Corinne to his heart, many times he drew back from her, then returned, then drew back again out of respect to her who was to be the companion of his life.  Corinne felt no alarm, for such was her esteem for Oswald, that if he had demanded the entire surrender of her being she would have considered that request as a solemn vow to espouse her; but she saw him triumph over himself, and this conquest was an honour paid her; whilst her heart felt that plenitude of happiness, and of love, which does not permit us to form another desire.  Oswald was far from being so calm:  he was fired with the charms of Corinne.  Once he threw himself at her feet with violence, and seemed to have lost all empire over his passion; but Corinne regarded him with such an expression of sweetness and fear, she made him so sensible of his power while beseeching him not to abuse it, that this humble entreaty inspired him with more respect than any other could possibly have done.

They then perceived in the sea, the reflection of a torch carried by the unknown hand of one who traversed the shore, repairing secretly to a neighbouring house.  “He is going to see the object of his love;” said Oswald.—­“Yes,” answered Corinne.  “And my happiness, for to-day, is about to end,”—­resumed Oswald.  At this moment the looks of Corinne were lifted towards heaven, and her eyes suffused with tears.  Oswald, fearing that he had offended her, fell on his knees to entreat her forgiveness for that love which had overpowered him.  “No,” said Corinne, stretching forth her hand to him, and inviting him to return with her.  “No, Oswald, I feel no alarm:  you will respect her who loves you:  you know that a simple request from you would be all-powerful with me; it is therefore you who must be my security—­you who would for ever reject me as your bride, if you had rendered me unworthy of being so.”  “Well,” answered Oswald, “since you believe in this cruel empire of your will upon my heart, Corinne, whence arises your sadness?”—­“Alas!” replied she, “I was saying to myself, that the moments which I have just passed with you were the happiest of my life, and as I turned my eyes in gratitude to heaven, I know not by what chance, a superstition of my childhood revived in my heart.  The moon which I contemplated was covered with a cloud, and the aspect of that cloud was fatal.  I have always found in the sky a countenance sometimes paternal and sometimes angry; and I tell you, Oswald, heaven has to-night condemned our love.”—­“My dear,” answered Lord Nelville, “the only omens of the life of man, are his good or evil actions; and have I not this very evening, immolated my most ardent desires on the altar of virtue?”—­“Well, so much the better if you are not included in this presage,” replied Corinne; “it may be that this angry sky has only threatened me.”