And as she spoke she slowly drew the black veil from her countenance.
The nobleman's heart palpitated, as she did so, with emotions of the most painful suspense—even of alarm: he felt like a man who in another instant must know the worst.
The veil dropped.
"Heavens! Diana," exclaimed the Earl, starting with surprise and indescribable delight.
For instead of a countenance seared and marked, he beheld a pure and spotless face glowing with a beauty which, even in her loveliest moments, had never seemed to invest her before.
Not a scar—not a trace of the accident was visible.
Her pouting lips were like the rose moistened with dew: her high, pale forehead was pure as marble; and her cheeks were suffused in blushes which seemed to be born beneath the clustering ringlets of her dark brown hair.
"Ah! Diana," exclaimed the Earl, as he drew her to his breast, "how can I punish thee for this cheat!"
"You will pardon me," she murmured, as she clasped her warm white arms around his neck, and imprinted a delicious kiss upon his lips, while her eyes were filled with a voluptuous languor,—"you will pardon me when you know my motives. But can you not divine them?"
"You wished to put my affection to the test, Diana," said the Earl. "Yes—I must forgive you—for you are beautiful—you are adorable—and I love you!"