On one occasion， the philosopher made such large demandsupon my time， that I was unable to meet her as I was wont. Hewas engaged in some mighty work， and I was forced to remain，day and night， feeding his furnaces and watching his chemicalpreparations. Bertha waited for me in vain at the fountain. Herhaughty spirit fired at this neglect； and when at last I stole outduring the few short minutes allotted to me for slumber， andhoped to be consoled by her， she received me with disdain，dismissed me in scorn， and vowed that any man should possessher hand rather than he who could not be in two places at oncefor her sake. She would be revenged！—And truly she was. Inmy dingy retreat I heard that she had been hunting， attended byAlbert Hoffer. Albert Hoffer was favoured by her protectress，and the three passed in cavalcade before my smoky window.
Methought that they mentioned my name—it was followed bya laugh of derision， as her dark eyes glanced contemptuouslytowards my abode.
Jealousy， with all its venom， and all its misery， entered mybreast. Now I shed a torrent of tears， to think that I shouldnever call her mine； and， anon， I imprecated a thousandcurses on her inconstancy. Yet， still I must stir the fires ofthe alchymist， still attend on the changes of his unintelligiblemedicines.
Cornelius had watched for three days and nights， nor closedhis eyes. The progress of his alembics was slower than heexpected： in spite of his anxiety， sleep weighed upon hiseyelids. Again and again he threw off drowsiness with morethan human energy； again and again it stole away his senses.
He eyed his crucibles wistfully. “Not ready yet，” he murmured；“will another night pass before the work is accomplished？
Winzy， you are vigilant—you are faithful—you have slept，my boy—you slept last night. Look at that glass vessel. Theliquid it contains is of a soft rose-colour： the moment it beginsto change its hue， awaken me—till then I may close my eyes.
First， it will turn white， and then emit golden flashes； but waitnot till then； when the rose-colour fades， rouse me.” I scarcelyheard the last words， muttered， as they were， in sleep. Eventhen he did not quite yield to nature. “Winzy， my boy，” heagain said， “do not touch the vessel—do not put it to your lips；it is a philter—a philter to cure love； you would not cease tolove your Bertha—beware to drink！”
And he slept. His venerable head sunk on his breast， andI scarce heard his regular breathing. For a few minutes Iwatched the vessel—the rosy hue of the liquid remainedunchanged. Then my thoughts wandered—they visited thefountain， and dwelt on a thousand charming scenes never to berenewed—never！ Serpents and adders were in my heart as theword “Never！” half formed itself on my lips. False girl！—falseand cruel！ Never more would she smile on me as that eveningshe smiled on Albert. Worthless， detested woman！ I would notremain unrevenged—she should see Albert expire at her feet—she should die beneath my vengeance. She had smiled in disdainand triumph—she knew my wretchedness and her power. Yetwhat power had she？—the power of exciting my hate—my utterscorn—my—oh， all but indifference！ Could I attain that—couldI regard her with careless eyes， transferring my rejected love toone fairer and more true， that were indeed a victory！
A bright flash darted before my eyes. I had forgotten themedicine of the adept； I gazed on it with wonder： flashes ofadmirable beauty， more bright than those which the diamondemits when the sun’s rays are on it， glanced from the surfaceof the liquid； an odour the most fragrant and grateful stoleover my sense； the vessel seemed one globe of living radiance，lovely to the eye， and most inviting to the taste. The firstthought， instinctively inspired by the grosser sense， was， Iwill—I must drink. I raised the vessel to my lips. “It will cureme of love—of torture！” Already I had quaffed half of the mostdelicious liquor ever tasted by the palate of man， when thephilosopher stirred. I started—I dropped the glass—the fluidflamed and glanced along the floor， while I felt Cornelius’sgripe at my throat， as he shrieked aloud， “Wretch！ you havedestroyed the labour of my life！”
The philosopher was totally unaware that I had drunk anyportion of his drug. His idea was， and I gave a tacit assent toit， that I had raised the vessel from curiosity， and that， frightedat its brightness， and the flashes of intense light it gave forth， Ihad let it fall. I never undeceived him. The fire of the medicinewas quenched—the fragrance died away—he grew calm， as aphilosopher should under the heaviest trials， and dismissed meto rest.
I will not attempt to describe the sleep of glory and blisswhich bathed my soul in paradise during the remaining hoursof that memorable night. Words would be faint and shallowtypes of my enjoyment， or of the gladness that possessed mybosom when I woke. I trod air—my thoughts were in heaven.
Earth appeared heaven， and my inheritance upon it was tobe one trance of delight. “This it is to be cured of love，” Ithought； “I will see Bertha this day， and she will find her lovercold and regardless： too happy to be disdainful， yet how utterlyindifferent to her！”
