"It was a vision--a shadowy messenger from the tomb. Yet, once more if I
might see him--ere I die." A deep sob, succeeded by a rapid gush of
tears, relieved her; but it told of the powerful and all-pervading
passion not yet extinguished in her breast.
"We shall meet!" again she raised her eyes towards that throne to which
the sigh of the sufferer never ascended in vain.
"Yes, my own--my loved Constance, now!" cried the stranger, rushing from
his concealment. He clasped her in his arms. A gleam, like sunlight
across the wave, shot athwart the shadow that was gathering on her eye.
It seemed the forerunner of a change. The anxious father forbore to
speak, but he looked on his daughter with an agony that seemed to
threaten either reason or existence. Constance gazed on her lover, but
her eye gradually became more dim. Her band relaxed in his grasp, yet
her features wore a look of serenity and happiness.
"O most merciful Father! Thou hast heard my prayer, through Him whose
merits have found me a place in that glory to which I come. Be merciful
to him whose love is true as mine own, and faithful unto death.
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