once more fixed upon him. Alice seemed turned to stone; she moved not,
she spoke not, she scarcely breathed; she gazed spellbound, as if her
senses--as if life itself--had deserted her.

"Alice!" murmured Maltravers,--"Alice, we meet at last!"

His voice restored memory, consciousness, youth, at once to her! She
uttered a loud cry of unspeakable joy, of rapture! She sprang
forward--reserve, fear, time, change, all forgotten; she threw herself
into his arms, she clasped him to her heart again and again!--the
faithful dog that has found its master expresses not his transport more
uncontrollably, more wildly. It was something fearful--the excess of her
ecstasy! She kissed his hands, his clothes; she laughed, she wept; and
at last, as words came, she laid her head on his breast, and said
passionately, "I have been true to thee! I have been true to thee!--or
this hour would have killed me!" Then, as if alarmed by his silence, she
looked up into his face, and as his burning tears fell upon her cheek,
she said again and with more hurried vehemence, "I _have_ been
faithful,--do you not believe me?"

"I do, I do, noble, unequalled Alice! Why, why were you so long lost to
me? Why now does your love so shame my own?"

At these words, Alice appeared to awaken from her first oblivion of all
that had chanced since they met; she blushed deeply, and drew herself
gently and bashfully from his embrace. "Ah," she said, in altered and
humbled accents, "you have loved another! Perhaps you have no love left
for me! Is it so; is it? No, no; those eyes--you love me--you love me
still!"