tenderness softened him for the moment. "My sweet Ellen!" exclaimed he, almost unconsciously, "would to God you were here!"
"Ah, now I dare speak to you!" whispered a sweet low voice.
Love was mightier than fear; and happy as herself, he kissed away the tears that fell thick and fast from the sweet eyes raised so timidly to his own.
"How could you leave me? who would watch over you with affection like mine?"
At these words he started from his seat, and snatched the skin of shagreen—it was reduced to a mere shred. "Ellen," exclaimed he, grasping her arm, "do you see this accursed thing? it is my life; one other wish is my death-warrant!"
He looked on the ghastly terror which marked his wife's features; his heart misgave him for her agony; and again, almost unwittingly, he wished her fear might cease! A deadly pain rushed over him, his eyes closed even on that beloved countenance; he strove to speak, the words died in an inarticulate murmur; a frightful convulsion distorted his face as it sank on Ellen's shoulder;—his last breath and the skin of shagreen had passed away together!
The hint for such a talisman is taken from M. de Balzac’s Peau de Chagrin. I have not read the tale itself, but saw a notice of it in Le Globe.
