Scarcely had Imogen seated herself, before she discovered, by a casual
glance over the prospect, and at some distance, a youth, who seemed to
advance with hasty steps towards the castle. At first she was tempted to
turn away her eye with carelessness and inattention. There was however
something in his figure, that led her, by a kind of fascination for
which she could not account, to cast upon him a second glance and a
third. He drew nearer. He leaped with an active bound over the fence
that separated him from the garden. It was the form of Edwin. His hair
hung carelessly about his shoulders. His shepherd's pipe was slung in
his belt. His clear and manly cheeks glowed with the warmth of the day,
and the anxiety of love. He entered the alcove.
Had a ghost risen before Imogen, surrounded with all the horrors of the
abyss, she could not have been struck with greater astonishment. As he
advanced, she gazed in silence. She could not utter a word. Her very
breath seemed suppressed. At length he entered, and for a moment she had
voice enough to utter her surprise. "Gracious powers!" exclaimed
she--"is it possible?--what is it that I see?--Edwin, beloved
Edwin!"--and she sunk breathless upon her seat. The fictitious shepherd
approached her, folded her in his arms, and with repeated, burning
kisses, which he had never before ventured to ravish from his disdainful
captive, restored her to life and perception.
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