and majesty of love. He turned slowly, and perceived her; he came to her
with his own peculiar smile; he drew her to his bosom in silence; he
pressed his lips to her forehead: she leaned upon his bosom, and forgot
all but him. Oh! if there be one feeling which makes Love, even guilty
Love, a god, it is the knowledge that in the midst of this breathing
world he reigns aloof and alone; and that those who are occupied with his
worship know nothing of the pettiness, the strife, the bustle which,
pollute and agitate the ordinary inhabitants of earth! What was now to
them, as they stood alone in the deep stillness of Nature, everything
that had engrossed them before they had met and loved? Even in her, the
recollections of guilt and grief subsided: she was only sensible of one
thought--the presence of the being who stood beside her,

That ocean to the rivers of her soul.

They sat down beneath an oak: Falkland stooped to kiss the cold and pale
cheek that still rested upon his breast. His kisses were like lava: the
turbulent and stormy elements of sin and desire were aroused even to
madness within him. He clasped her still nearer to his bosom: her lips
answered to his own: they caught perhaps something of the spirit which
they received: her eyes were half-closed; the bosom heaved wildly that
was pressed to his beating and burning heart. The skies grew darker and
darker as the night stole over them: one low roll of thunder broke upon
the curtained and heavy air--they did not hear it; and yet it was the
knell of peace--virtue--hope--lost, lost for ever to their souls!

They separated as they had never done before. In Emily's bosom there was
a dreary void--a vast blank-over which there went a low deep voice like a
Spirit's--a sound indistinct and strange, that spoke a language she knew
not; but felt that it told of woe-guilt-doom. Her senses were stunned: