The mind, however, yielded not to the fatigue of the body; on the contrary it seemed to have more abundant vitality. Quentin dreamed he was in the street. The bells rang, the people shouted, and gay equipages passed by. It was a day of public rejoicing, for Elzia, the daughter of Algini, was to wed van Deg, the nation’s favourite, the celebrated painter. People recounted the scenes he had delineated and lauded the artist to the skies. Quentin trembled and the cold perspiration gathered on his forehead as the nuptial cavalcade approached. They halted at the chapel and the groom conducted the bride all pale and trembling up the aisle to the altar. As the father was about giving his daughter away, Quentin rushed up and seized her; she shrieked and fell dead in his embrace. Her relatives and the priest all gazed in horror! Quentin raised his eyes, saw the misery in their countenances, and as his face fell upon the bosom of his lovely burden he expired—and at that moment awoke.
Still the people were before his eyes, fresh in his recollection as if he had beheld the awful scenes by the noonday sun. Impelled by an unaccountable impulse he arose and lighted his lamp, and taking a coal from the extinguished embers in his chimney, he commenced a picture of this scene upon the wall. He drew each face, recoiling in surprise at the perfect resemblance to the individuals. As he finished the outline he beheld in it a faithful transfer of his dream, wanting nothing but colour. A thousand thoughts darted through his brain. He flung himself on his bed, and when he next awoke the rays of the sun had gilded his apartment. His first object was to seek the mural picture, and he trembled lest it had all been a dream, but there it stood as if executed by a magic power.
“If this is the result of an effort with charcoal,” cried he, striking his breast in a delirium of joy, “what might I not effect with other means? What might be my reward?”
As daylight sought its slumbers in the bosom of night the lovers met again. “I’m doing wrong,” murmured Elzia, “in meeting you, since I am an affianced bride. This night must be our last. It is a sad thing to part with those we love; yet I act as virtue dictates, and we must meet no more, as—”
“Say not that we shall meet no more as lovers; say that we shall meet no more; for, Elzia, could we meet but to love, to upbraid fate which so cruelly divides us?”
“I must away,” said the girl; “if Quentin’s affection is pure he will condemn me for lingering.”
“Farewell, then, sweetest. If I lose thee I will wander to some distant clime and strive to bury my regrets in new cares and new companions.”
He imprinted a kiss upon her willing lips. He watched her retiring form as it appeared and disappeared amid the foliage at intervals until it was finally lost to his anxious view; then he turned slowly and sadly away.
Never did father love his daughter with more fondness than Algini his child Elzia. Her good was his great aim. He was an enthusiast in the art of the pencil, and deemed that one of that profession would be most worthy of his child. The two passions of his soul mingled in such a manner that they became one. He considered the canvas a lasting monument to genius, and that he would best secure his daughter’s happiness by uniting her to one who would be alive to all posterity in his works. Algini had therefore selected van Deg, as he was the boast of his country, and the figures of his creation wanted nothing but motion to make them the exact counterpart of the living originals. Besides, he was wealthy and would add to the riches of the family. Finally, his daughter was not old enough now to judge for herself, and though she had confessed that she was prejudiced against her proposed husband, a few years of connubial intercourse would overcome that, and she would ultimately be benefited.