Like him in Shakspeare's "Seven Ages," he passed from love
to ambition. A new charm seemed to awake to him in the future, not
to the desertion of his love, nor yet exactly to its promotion. An
indefinite idea seemed to move him that he must win fame, glory and
renown; and yet he hardly paused to think what the end of these
would be; whether they would ultimately bring him nearer to the
proud girl of his hopes and his love. Fame rang in his ears; the
word seemed to fire his veins; he was humble-he must be honored; he
was poor-he must be rich; he was unknown-he must be renowned! With
such thoughts as these, his pulses beat quicker, his eye flashed,
and his check became flushed, and then one tender thought of
Isabella would change every current, and almost moisten those
bloodshot eyes with tears. Would to God that Lorenzo Bezan could now
but shed a tear-what gentle yet substantial relief it would have
afforded him.
Thus was the exiled soldier influenced; while Isabella Gonzales was,
as we have seen, still living on under the veil of her pride;
unable, apparently, for one single moment to draw the curtain, and
look with naked eye upon the real picture of her feelings, actions,
and honest affections.
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