all his love for her, and of the promise he had made to Flamin. Clotilda
stooped and clasped his hand, and drew him up, and he folded her to his
breast.

"We must part, dearest," he said, "until my father sees fit to reveal to
your brother the secret of his birth."

A nightingale broke out into a passion of song as Victor gathered up his
courage to bid her farewell. The call of the nightingale was suddenly
answered by another nightingale. It kept flying as it sang, and, with
its voice muffled by the thick blossoms on the trees, it sent a
languishing melody flowing out of a dim, flowering dell a hundred paces
away. The two lovers, who dreaded and delayed to part, wandered
confusedly after the receding nightingale into the hollow of the forest;
they knew not that they were alone, for in their hearts was God. At last
Clotilda recovered herself, and as the nightingale ceased, she turned
round to say good-bye. But Victor lingered, and took both of her hands,
though for very grief he could not bear to look upon her. With tears in
his eyes he murmured, "Good-bye, my dearest. My heart is too heavy. I
can say no more. Do not sorrow, darling. Nothing can part us
now--neither life nor death."

Like a transfigured spirit bending down to an angel, he stooped and
touched her sweet mouth. In a gentle kiss, in which their hovering souls
only glided tremorously from afar to meet each other with fluttering
wings, he took from her yielding lips the seal of her pure love. As he
did so, there came a crashing sound from the dark trees around them.

"You scoundrel!" cried Flamin, rushing down into the hollow, his eyes
gleaming in the moonlight, and his face white with anger. "Take it, take