despair."—"No reflection, in the present instance, is needed, Lady," replied Wolfstein, coolly, yet determinedly, "What man of honour needs a moment's rumination to discover what nature has so inerasibly implanted in his bosom—the sense of right and wrong? I am connected with a female whom I love, who confides in me; in what manner should I merit her confidence, if I join myself to another? Nor can the loveliness, the exquisite, the unequalled loveliness of the beautiful Olympia della Anzasca compensate me for breaking an oath sworn to another."
He paused.—Olympia spake not, but appeared to be awaiting the dreadful fiat of her destiny.
"Olympia," Wolfstein continued, "pardon me! Were I not irrevocably Megalena's, I must be thine: I esteem you, I admire you, but my love is another's."
The passion which before had choked Olympia's utterance, appeared to give way to the impetuousness of her emotions.
"Then," she said, as a solemnity of despair toned her voice to firmness, "then you are irrevocably another's?"
"I am compelled to be explicit; I am compelled to say, I am another's for ever!" fervently returned Wolfstein.
Again fainting from the excess of painful feeling which vibrated through her frame, Olympia fell at Wolfstein's
