yielding glances, which are about to render me the happiest being the ruddy morning sun e’er shone upon.” So saying, he would have removed the veil which concealed the lovely features he so desired to gaze upon; but Emma only drew it still closer around her, and replied in a scarcely audible tone of voice: “O master of my heart! ’tis not in mortal to resist thee! Thy constancy hath triumphed. Receive from my lips the confession of my tenderness; but suffer this veil still to hide my blushes and my tears.”—“Why tears?” said Rubezahl, in faltering accents; “every tear of thine falls like a drop of burning oil on my heart. I ask love for love, but no sacrifice.”—“Ah!” replied Emma, “why will’st thou misinterpret my tears? My heart responds to thy tenderness, but anxious misgivings harass me. The wife does not retain the charms of the mistress. Thou art not assailable by old age; but the beauty of mortals is a flower which soon fades. How can I be assured that thou wilt prove as tender and constant a husband, as thou hast been a passionate and devoted lover?”—“Demand what proof thou wilt of my fidelity,” replied Rubezahl, “and it shall be given. Only put my constancy to the proof, and thou shalt find how unalterable is my deep love.”—“Be it so,” said Emma; “I ask but one evidence of thy complaisance. Go, count all the turnips in the field. ’Tis my wish that our nuptials should not
