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say, what was the direction that he took, or what his thoughts, his hopes, his desires, and his wishes. During that month- the month in which he was searching for her-how many days were there not of slow and cruel agony for Rachel ! She, alas ! had fallen into that species of paroxysm that, little by little, is sure to undermine health, and, eventually to destroy life. How often had the echo of these Cis-Alpine rocks repeated the beloved name of " Louis !" How often might the unfortunate maiden be seen, her hair scattered in disorder, and leaning as if from the summit of the mountain, and measuring with a haggard eye those abysses that Nature has dug out, as if they were so many vast graves yawning to engulph her ? Antonio, for thus was the mountaineer named, was, as if it were by a species of enchantment, always to be found near her, even in the moment of her greatest despair, and her most bitter sorrow. He placed himself between Rachel and every precipice that was beside her path ; and then, looking at her, his hands clasped together, he seemed to supplicate her to live, and by a sort of smile which he gathered upon his lips, he appeared anxious to remove from his face all that was lowering, and to put off those fearful impressions that his coarse and savage voice were likely to excite. There was in the man something so strange, that it was easy to comprehend that some emotion stronger than that of of pity characterised his conduct. Reared in the midst of the Alps, he had dreamed more than once of that happiness that steals on the soul, when one gazes in the face, and looks into the eyes of a beautiful maiden. He now felt it, but he dared not to tell to Rachel what were his feelings. How could he, so low, so foul, so base, and so obscure, presume to look up to the loveliness and the brightness that invested her, and that followed in her footsteps ; her beauty that, in such a situation, rose, like a resplendent vapor, from a dark, dark valley. But then, if he could not give free vent to his love, he could, at least indulge, in all its energy, and with all its strength, the hatred of the Jew against Louis. He cursed Louis ; he hated the very thought of Louis ; and when that dreaded, detested name was uttered by the lips of Rachel, then did his horny hand grasp, with a firm, deadly gripe, the dagger fastened in his belt. Solomon had charged this man to watch Rachel attentively ; and the manner in which he executed this duty, showed that there was a stronger motive for his conduct than the mere desire to please the father. The state of the young girl gradually became worse ; her sufferings daily were greater ; and her heart was so full, that even the tears that she shed could bring to her no consolation, and in no wise assuage her sorrows. Like unto bodies deprived of life, and submitted to the voltaic battery, there was no pensive electricity to her, excepting

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one-the name of the Christian that she adored. To her every thing else was a mass of confusion-senseless, charmless, graceless, cold, cold as ice. Already consumption, that disease as cruel and remorseless as it is insidious, had seized upon her, when Solomon, one day, came to tell her of the death of her mother, her excellent, her affectionate, her beloved mother ; and yet, she remained, on hearing this, like to one who has been stricken by a thunder-bolt ; broken down- nervelessher eyelids drawn back-her breath stopped, and incapable of uttering a single word. The Jew wept as he clasped her to his heart ; he endeavored, but in vain, to reanimate her scattered spirits. He would have sacrificed all his fortune to save her from this frightful lethargy ; but he would sooner have followed her bier, than wed her to a Christian. The hatred of fanaticism has no pity, no sensibility, no feeling, no remorse. Time thus passed away, when, one fine evening, Rachel, sad and silent, walked along a narrow path that leads to the mountain of the Three-Lances. She had just reached a mass of shapeless marble, which witnessed the passage of the Alps, by Hannibal, when she suddenly stopped, and, raising her eyes to Heaven, she murmured forth sounds, that though they might be said to be inarticulate, still betrayed what was the secret of her heart. The noise made by the crackling of some wild plants, as they were crushed beneath the feet of some traveller, first drew her from the meditation in which she was plunged. She looked - a piercing cry came from her lips- she could not move-she had to lean for support against the block of marble. Louis the Christian was at the feet of the Jewish maiden. How can one draw an exact picture of that interview ? It was on the one side, as on the other, joy, the very delirium of delight, the intoxication of supreme happiness. There were questions without end, and there were answers that were perfectly incoherent. They were insane with love, and it was necessary for both to resay a thousand times that which both had a thousand times before repeated. The moon had already begun to shed its beams through the thick foliage of the old oaks, and Rachel had not yet returned to the cottage ! The mountaineer stood at the cottage door, and called her ; but he called in vain. Never before that evening had she failed to answer him. He felt this, and then he bethought himself of the orders of the Jew, and of the fears which the father had expressed in their last interview. Instantly he determined to go in search of her. Armed, according to the custom of the mountaineers of the Novelese, with a. broad cutlass, he bounded over the rocky torrent, and he climbed the ascent of the Three Lances, with all the agility of a chamois-hunter. The only thing that broke the silence that reigned around him was the rustling of the branches as he rushed along.