Amelia seemed to hesitate what to reply; however, after a short silence, said to me with the innate dignity of a noble, generous mind: “My Lord, if you want to have a consort, then I must beg you to forget me. But if you are in quest of a loving heart, then—” added she in a low accent, and with crimsoning cheeks, “you have found it.”
I don’t know what I replied, nor can I recollect what I said afterwards; for from the moment she had pronounced the confession of her reciprocal love, I thought myself transported to Paradise, and breathed in a new and better sphere. The possession of Amelia’s heart, ensured to me by the declaration of her own lips, had expelled from my breast every terrestrial wish; my whole nature seemed to me exalted and purified of all earthly dregs, and the flame which had penetrated my frame, was a sacred fire cleared of every particle of sensuality. O! innocent love, thou offspring of the sacred affinity of two congenial souls, thou art perhaps the sole species of union and enjoyment, which is capable to afford us here below a notion of the union and the pleasure of the inhabitants of the heavenly regions. How natural therefore, if we, particularly in the first moments of enjoyment, are incapable to express such sentiments by words. However, my faltering accents, my confused expressions, and my incoherent sentences, seemed nevertheless to be as well understood by Amelia, as if she were reading in my soul, which I could conclude from her words, and the still plainer speaking play of her mien. Love had diffused over her countenance new and unspeakable charms, which surrounded her with a glory that made her appear to me a more than mortal being. And to be beloved by her—that bliss would have overpowered me, if I had not been made acquainted with my happiness in the morning.
Lady Delier, who had left us to ourselves all the time, interrupted us at length. “Children!” said she, “do you know that it is not far from eleven o’clock?” I started up as if some grisly spectre had surprised me, because I recollected the Unknown, eleven o’clock being the time when I had promised to meet him at the place of rendezvous at a considerable distance.
To take leave!—without knowing whether I should ever see her again, for I was to depart the next morn with the dawn of day. This idea overpowered me so much, that I promised Amelia and myself to visit her once more to-morrow before my departure. Our separation was, nevertheless, so afflicting, the parting on both sides so difficult, and the last adieu pronounced with quivering lips.—Alas! a secret presentiment seemed to whisper in my ear that we should meet no more. How many times did I attempt to go and stopped again—how many times did I go and return again to assure Amelia that I should certainly see her once more!—Her emotions seemed, indeed, to be less vehement than mine, however, I could not be deceived, and observing the secret workings of her soul, perceived the pearly tear that started from her eye, and the violent heaving of her bosom.
Lady Delier did not long remain an idle spectator, exhorting us to dedicate the present moment to joy, and to yield to our grief to-morrow, tearing the Countess from my arms, and wishing me a good night.
I stopped once more on the terrace, saw the two ladies retiring to a grove, of beech-trees, and Amelia turned twice, beckoning to me. My tears flowed fluently, my arms were expanded for her, the darkness of the night concealed her from my wishful looks. I rushed mechanically into the street, and arrived at the place of rendezvous without knowing how. It was lonely spot covered with trees. The Irishman soon joined me.
“My time is short,” he said, “and I have to tell you a great deal; let us sit down.” So saying he led me to a stone bench beneath a spreading oak, and we seated ourselves.
He seemed to observe my being violently agitated, and kept a long and solemn silence to give me time to recover.—“I wish, my dear Duke!”—he at length began, “that you may not expect more from this interview than I am allowed to give. I must confine myself merely to the theoretical part of that occult science to which I have promised to initiate you after the time of probation shall be finished. However, it is here as it is with all other sciences; the pupil of sense guesses by the theory, what he may expect from the practical part of the science—as a painter beholds in a sketch the picture which is to be drawn, or as an architect sees in the plan drawn on the paper the building which is to be constructed; be therefore satisfied with what I dare impart to you for the present.”
“I do not desire you to disclose to me, more than I am able to bear at present.”
The Irishman paused again, and then began thus: