sible? You declared that you would love me faithfully; and when you said so, you laid your hand upon your heart. I am sure you cannot deceive me. No, no; he who has risked his life for all that is most sacred to men—for truth and justice—he cannot stoop to a lie—cannot prove false to an innocent maiden—no, he cannot. It would certainly break my heart, and I should pine myself away till God called me to my poor mother, who loved truly and was truly loved in return, and who now sleeps in the peaceful grave. Don’t serve me so; that would bring you no blessing!”
“No,” added she, after a pause, smiling through her tears, “no, I will not doubt. I have been a silly girl. I shall sorrow after you, like my aulis after their mothers, when they are kept in the pens, while the mothers are gone to pasture. But you will return like them—you will certainly return; and that you will return in the same sentiments you now profess—O sir! if you wish me to be quite easy, assure me of that with an oath. Place the three middle fingers of your right hand on my left breast, beneath which the heart of your maiden beats and will ever beat for you alone, and swear love and constancy to me, and I will put my trust in you, as in my God.” Upon that pure altar of innocence, I swore love and constancy till death, and a long
