Corinne secretly flattered herself that she had captivated the heart of Oswald; yet knowing his severe reserve, dared not fully betray the interest he inspired, prompt as she was by nature to confess her feelings. Perhaps she even thought that while speaking on subjects foreign to their love, the very voice might disclose their mutual affection; a silent avowal be expressed in their looks, or in that veiled and melancholy language which so deeply penetrates the soul.
One morning, while she was preparing to continue their researches, she received from him an almost ceremonious note, saying that indisposition would confine him to his house for some days. A sad disquietude seized the heart of Corinne: at first, she feared that he was dangerously ill; but Count d'Erfeuil, who called in the evening, informed her that it was but one of those nervous attacks to which Nevil was so subject, and during which he would converse with nobody. "He won't even see me!" added the count. The words displeased Corinne; but she took care to hide her anger from its object, as he alone could bring her tidings of his friend. She therefore continued to question him, trusting that a person so giddy, at least in appearance, would tell her all he knew. But whether he wished to hide, beneath an air of mystery, the fact that Nevil had confided nothing, or whether he believed it more honourable to thwart her wishes than to grant them, he met her ardent curiosity by imperturbable silence. She, who had always gained such an ascendency over those with whom she spoke, could not understand why her persuasive powers should fail with him. She did not know that self-love is the most inflexible quality in the world. Where was then her resource for learning what passed in the heart of Oswald? Should she write to him? A letter requires such caution; and the loveliest attribute of her nature was its impulsive sincerity. Three days passed, and still he came not. She suffered the most cruel agitation. "What have I done," she thought, "to dissever him from me? I have not committed the error so formidable in England, so pardonable in Italy; I never told him that I loved. Even if he guesses it, why should he esteem me the less?" Oswald avoided Corinne merely because he but too strongly felt the power of her charms. Although he had not given his word to marry Lucy Edgarmond, he knew that such had been his father's wish, and desired to conform with it. Corinne was not known by her real name: she had for many years led a life far too independent for him to hope that a union with her would have obtained the approbation of his parent, and he felt that it was not by such a step he could expiate his early offences. He purposed to leave Rome, and write Corinne an explanation of the motives which enforced such resolution; but not feeling strength for this, he limited his exertions to a forbearance from visiting her; and this sacrifice soon appeared the most painful of the two.
Corinne was struck by the idea that she should see him no more; that he would fly without bidding her adieu. She expected every instant to hear of his departure; and terror so aggravated her sensations, that the vulture talons of passion seized at once on her heart; and its peace, its liberty, crouched beneath them. Unable to rest in the house where Oswald came not, she wandered in the gardens of Rome, hoping to meet him; she had at least some chance of seeing him, and best supported the hours during which she trusted to this expectation.
Her ardent fancy, the source of her talents, was unhappily blended with such natural feeling, that it now constituted her wretchedness. The evening of the fourth day's absence the moon shone clearly over Rome, which, in the silence of night, looks lovely, as if it were inhabited but by the spirits of the great. Corinne, on her way from the house of a female friend, left her carriage, and, oppressed with grief, seated herself beside the fount of Trevi, whose abundant cascade falls in the centre of Rome, and seems the life of that tranquil scene. Whenever its flow is suspended, all appears stagnation. In other cities it is the roll of carriages that the ear requires; in Rome it is the murmur of this immense fountain, which seems the indispensable accompaniment of the dreamy life led there. Its water is so pure, that it has for many ages been named the Virgin Spring. The form of Corinne was now reflected on its surface. Oswald, who had paused there at the same moment, beheld the enchanting countenance of his love thus mirrored in the wave: at first, it affected him so strangely that he believed himself gazing on her phantom, as his imagination had often conjured up that of his father: he leaned forward, in order to see it more plainly, and his own features appeared beside those of Corinne. She recognised them, shrieked, rushed towards him and seized his arm, as if she feared he would again escape; but scarcely had she yielded to this too impetuous impulse, ere, remembering the character of Lord Nevil, she blushed, her hand dropped, and with the other she covered her face to hide her tears.
"Corinne! dear Corinne!" he cried, "has then my absence pained you?"—"Yes," she replied, "you must have known it would. Why then inflict such pangs on me? Have I deserved to suffer thus for you?"—"No, no," he answered; "but if I cannot deem myself free—if my heart be filled by regret and fear, why should I involve you in its tortures? Why?"—"It is too late to ask," interrupted Corinne; "grief is already in my breast; bear with me!"—"Grief!" repeated Oswald; "in the midst of so brilliant a career, with so lively a genius!"—"Hold," she said, "you know me not. Of all my faculties, the most powerful is that of suffering. I was formed for happiness; my nature is confiding and animated; but sorrow excites me to a degree that threatens my reason, nay, my life. Be careful of me! My gay versatility serves me but in appearance: within my soul is an abyss of despair, which I can only avoid by preserving myself from love." Corinne spoke with an expression which vividly affected Oswald. "I will come to you to-morrow, rely on it, Corinne," he said. "Swear it!" she exclaimed, with an eagerness which she strove in vain to disguise. "I do," he answered, and departed.