flattering tributes of the Italians, this outward coldness disguising
intense tenderness of heart captivated her imagination.

But one morning she received from him a note saying that indisposition
would confine him to his house for some days. Oswald had made up his
mind to avoid Corinne; he felt too strongly the power of her charms.
What would his father have said of this woman? Could she, the brilliant
poetess, be expected to possess the English domestic virtues which his
father valued above all things in a wife? Besides, there was a mystery
about her; she had not revealed her name and family even to him; nor had
he ever had an explanation of her perfect knowledge of English.

Corinne was terrified, on receiving the note, by the idea that he would
fly without bidding her adieu. Unable to rest in the house where Oswald
came not, she wandered in the gardens of Rome, hoping to meet him. As
she was seated in grief beside the Fount of Trevi, Oswald, who had
paused there at the same moment, saw her countenance reflected in the
water. He started, as if he had seen her phantom; but a moment later
Corinne had rushed forward and seized his arm--then, repenting of her
impetuosity, she blushed, and covered her face to hide her tears.

"Dear Corinne!" he cried, "has my absence pained you?"

"Yes," she replied, "you must have known it would. Why then inflict such
pangs on me? Have I deserved them?"

Her emotion greatly affected Oswald. "I will visit you again to-morrow,
Corinne," he said. "Swear it!" she exclaimed, eagerly. "I do."