'Forgive me--oh, forgive me! you dreamed the truth,' cried the painter, in great agitation, while he threw himself down by the sick man's couch, and embraced his knees.
An explanation ensued between the two friends who had so long been estranged from each other--mutual confessions were made--old feelings were revived in the hearts of both--and an entire reconciliation immediately took place. The unusual emotion, and the surprise at the event related to him, did not, as might have been expected, increase the illness of the nervous and debilitated invalid; on the contrary, the meeting with his former friend appeared to have had a good effect on his health, for in the course of a few weeks he had quite recovered.
The old lady's qualifications as a seer, or rather her strange faculty of beholding, to others invisible, apparitions, had been productive of good; but it was such an extraordinary revelation, agreeing so entirely with what both the reconciled friends knew to be the truth, that they could only look upon it as a proof of the reality of what was then beginning to be so much talked of--the magnetic clairvoyance.
They continued unalterable friends from that time. From that time, also, the artist felt an involuntary horror at ridiculing the absent, or making or listening to any censorious remarks upon them; he always fancied that the injured party might be standing _as a secret witness_ by his side, with one hand on his breast, and the other raised in an appeal to that great Judge, who alone can know what is passing in every heart and every soul.
Agnete she was guileless. She was beloved and true, But solitude, it charm'd her, And mirth she never knew-- She never knew-- She made the joy of all around Yet never felt it too.
Over the dark blue waves, Agnete, gazing, bends, When lo! a merman rising there From ocean's depths ascends; Up he ascends. Yet still, Agnete's bending form With the soft billows blends.
His glossy hair, it seemed as spun Out of the purest gold, His beaming eye, it brightly glow'd With warmest love untold-- With love untold! And his scale-cover'd bosom held A heart that was not cold.
The song he sang Agnete, On love and sorrow rang; His voice it was so melting soft, So sadly sweet he sang-- Sadly he sang. It seemed as if his beating heart Upon his lips it sprang.