"Good God! (said Edwin,) that this mystery could be explained!"
Albert shook his head, and immediately withdrew.
In the evening, Edwin, his sister, and Madeline, visited the prisoner; but, if they were surprised before at the happy alteration a few hours had produced in his looks, how much more so were they now at observing the still greater progress in the improvement both of his health and spirits.—He was drest in the most fashionable stile of the times, with an elegance and neatness that astonished them: every part of his dress was such as was only worn by persons of the highest rank,—his clothes richly trimmed, his stockings silk, and his shoes fastened with gold clasps.
At the approach of Roseline and her friend, his eyes sparkled with delight. In fact, he appeared like one raised from the grave by a miracle,—new fashioned and created. It was visible to all the party that his chief attention was directed to Roseline. He watched her every look, and the language of his artless soul was easily read in every expressive and animated feature.
They were now tolerably cheerful. His fear, reserve, and timidity, began gradually to wear off. He even ventured to address a question to Madeline, and to gaze with tender earnestness on her friend. Edwin, with an arch smile, reminded them it would be time to retire, when Roseline had given proper directions respecting her patient, from whose rapid recovery he foretold she would reap such honours as would firmly establish her reputation, as the first female physician in the world.
"And as the best, the most gentle of her sex," added the prisoner, blushing deeply as he ventured to express his gratitude.—"I owe her more than life,—more than—"
"A truce with your thanks, my good friend, (cried Roseline, now blushing in her turn.) and prove, you value our endeavours to render you more comfortable by taking the utmost care of yourself, and by not permitting you mind to swell on any circumstance likely to agitate and distress you."
He promised to be directed by his friends, and to follow strictly all their injunctions. Again they could not prevail on themselves to leave him, till the night was pretty far advanced. On receiving a promise from Edwin to visit him again the next morning, and one from the ladies to be with him in the evening, he saw them depart without any violent agitation; yet a visible gloom and reluctance pervaded his features, not to be concealed by one who never had formed an idea that it was either necessary or possible to disguise the feelings, or disavow the sentiments of the heart.
Happy state of unspotted unsuspecting integrity! when no pangs of guilt harass and corrode the mind with unceasing anguish! We can scarcely prevail upon ourselves (when we recollect it incorruptible advantages) to think such an enviable portion of internal peace dearly purchased even with the loss of liberty; for, amidst all his sufferings, out hapless prisoner could not recall on action that hung heavy on his mind, or that awakened the scorpion sting of a reproaching conscience. His life might justly be compared to the spotless pages of a book, whose leaves no blot had yet defiled, but which remained properly prepared to receive the fairest and most lasting impressions.
The expected summons for Madeline's return to the nunnery arrived. However reluctant to obey so unwelcome a mandate, she was obliged to comply. The parting between the lovers was attended with many uncomfortable and unpleasant feelings.—Melancholy presentiments were encouraged, which increased the distresses of the moment. She could not leave the prisoner without shedding many tears. She even envied his situation, and when she compared it with her own, it did not appear so hopeless and solitary. He still retained on faithful friend, and had lately met with others, who, if not so long known, were equally attached to him: He would likewise see Edwin every day, while she, immured in the hor d*val of a nunnery, as inimical to her felicity as those by which he was surrounded had till then proved to his, would be denied even the soothing influence of hope;—that ignis fatuus of the mind had deserted its post, and left it open to the sad encroachments of fruitless and unavailing regret.—Most severely did she now condemn herself for every having quitted the holy asylum, in which, if she had not found happiness, she had never felt such conflicts as those she now endured.