 and delighted his youthful instructors. He was indefatigable in storing his mind with all the knowledge the best authors could impart. With returning health his memory regained its former power, and all the natural and brilliant faculties of his mind recovered their usual strength, and proved he was endowed with more than common capacity and genius. His elegant form, animated features,—the serene, ensnaring gentleness of his manners, and the mild sweetness of his disposition, unfolded themselves by degrees, and endeared him beyond expression to his friends.

As a curious and rare plant, guarded by the active hand, and watched by the careful eye of the gardener, raises or depresses his hopes at first putting forth its tender blossoms, till a kind and congenial season brings it to maturity, and its beauties, suddenly bursting on the sight, prove an ample reward for his fostering care,—so did the heart of Roseline expand and rejoice at every proof the prisoner gave of the goodness of his disposition, and the superior excellence of his understanding.

It was clearly visible to Edwin and to Albert that a mutual passion united the prisoner and Roseline, while every fleeting hour served more and more to endear them to each other. Edwin, already entangled in the toils of hopeless love, and enduring all the pangs of despair and apprehension, trembled for the fate of a sister for whom he felt an uncommon degree of fraternal affection, but to whom he could not prevail on himself to mention a subject so delicate and distressing. The prisoner made no attempt to conceal his ardent love for Roseline:—it was an effort as far beyond his comprehension as his power, and, though, he made no formal declaration, every word, look, and action, betrayed the situation of his heart. Of the world he was totally ignorant; of marriage he had not even thought,—that being a subject on which they had never conversed, and his own situation, desperate and hopeless as it was, now seldom engaged his attention. Roseline, and Roseline alone, engrossed his every idea: while he saw her smile, and heard the sound of her voice, he was contented and happy, and, when she was absent, the wish, of rendering himself more worthy and better able to converse with her, stimulated him to pay unremitting attention to his own improvement, and the instructions he received; but, had he been assured he should see her no more, he would have sunk into the same apathy and indifference for life and its enjoyments from which her kindness had drawn him.

After Madeline had left the castle, and before the return
