And he fell in his holy chivalry.
To visit my side in the watches of night,
To comfort my heart, and to gladden my sight,
And call me to join him in countries of light,
And dwell in his breast through eternity."
Years pass; and he comes not. Nor yet she believes!
'Tis his absence, but 'tis not his death that she grieves.
Hope strong in affection, her heart still deceives,
Lo! she watches yon Palmer how eagerly,
To ask him some tidings of Syria to say--
But what is thy magic, oh, thou Palmer gray?
She is clasped in his arms! she has fainted away!
And he kisses her fair cheek how tenderly.
As the song had gone on, Marie de Clairvaut could no longer doubt that, though allegorical, those words were applicable to herself. Joy--joy beyond all conception took the place of grief; all that she had suffered, all that she had endured in the past, she now felt, indeed, to be nothing to what she had lately undergone. But the extatic delight which the last words of that song gave, the sudden dissipation of grief was too much for her to endure. It was like the light that blinds us when we suddenly rush from the darkness into the sunshine; and she who had gone through dangers, and horrors, and perils of many a kind, firm and unshaken, fell fainting under the sudden effect of joy. How long she remained so she knew not; but at all events it was not long enough to attract the attention of the people of the house, from the windows, of which she was screened by a thick alley of trees. Some one, however, had been near her, for there were the prints of small feet in the grass, extending from the wall to the spot where she lay, and immediately under her hand was placed a small packet addressed to herself.
Fearful of discovery, she hid it instantly in her bosom, and, as soon as she could, rose, and with a step far slower than her wishes, sped back again to the house to read the paper she had received, in secret.
It was written in a bold, free hand; the date was that very morning; and the first words, "My beloved."