The hours danced away. The philosopher， secure that he hadonce succeeded， and believing that he might again， began toconcoct the same medicine once more. He was shut up withhis books and drugs， and I had a holiday. I dressed myselfwith care； I looked in an old but polished shield， which servedme for a mirror； methought my good looks had wonderfullyimproved. I hurried beyond the precincts of the town， joy inmy soul， the beauty of heaven and earth around me. I turnedmy steps towards the castle—I could look on its lofty turretswith lightness of heart， for I was cured of love. My Berthasaw me afar off， as I came up the avenue. I know not whatsudden impulse animated her bosom， but at the sight， shesprung with a light fawn-like bound down the marble steps，and was hastening towards me. But I had been perceived byanother person. The old high-born hag， who called herself herprotectress， and was her tyrant， had seen me， also； she hobbled，panting， up the terrace； a page， as ugly as herself， held up hertrain， and fanned her as she hurried along， and stopped myfair girl with a “How， now， my bold mistress？ whither so fast？
Back to your cage—hawks are abroad！”
Bertha clasped her hands—her eyes were still bent on myapproaching figure. I saw the contest. How I abhorred the oldcrone who checked the kind impulses of my Bertha’s softeningheart. Hitherto， respect for her rank had caused me to avoid thelady of the castle； now I disdained such trivial considerations.
I was cured of love， and lifted above all human fears； Ihastened forwards， and soon reached the terrace. How lovelyBertha looked！ her eyes flashing fire， her cheeks glowingwith impatience and anger， she was a thousand times moregraceful and charming than ever—I no longer loved—Oh！ no，I adored—worshipped—idolized her！
She had that morning been persecuted， with more than usualvehemence， to consent to an immediate marriage with myrival. She was reproached with the encouragement that she hadshown him—she was threatened with being turned out of doorswith disgrace and shame. Her proud spirit rose in arms at thethreat； but when she remembered the scorn that she had heapedupon me， and how， perhaps， she had thus lost one whom shenow regarded as her only friend， she wept with remorse andrage. At that moment I appeared. “O， Winzy！” she exclaimed，“take me to your mother’s cot； swiftly let me leave the detestedluxuries and wretchedness of this noble dwelling—take me topoverty and happiness.”
I clasped her in my arms with transport. The old lady wasspeechless with fury， and broke forth into invective onlywhen we were far on our road to my natal cottage. My motherreceived the fair fugitive， escaped from a gilt cage to natureand liberty， with tenderness and joy； my father， who loved her，welcomed her heartily； it was a day of rejoicing， which didnot need the addition of the celestial potion of the alchymist tosteep me in delight.
Soon after this eventful day， I became the husband of Bertha.
I ceased to be the scholar of Cornelius， but I continued hisfriend. I always felt grateful to him for having， unawares，procured me that delicious draught of a divine elixir， which，instead of curing me of love （sad cure！ solitary and joylessremedy for evils which seem blessings to the memory）， hadinspired me with courage and resolution， thus winning for mean inestimable treasure in my Bertha.
I often called to mind that period of trance-like inebriationwith wonder. The drink of Cornelius had not fulfilled the taskfor which he affirmed that it had been prepared， but its effectswere more potent and blissful than words can express.
They had faded by degrees， yet they lingered long—andpainted life in hues of splendour. Bertha often wondered atmy lightness of heart and unaccustomed gaiety； for， before， Ihad been rather serious， or even sad， in my disposition. Sheloved me the better for my cheerful temper， and our days werewinged by joy.
Five years afterwards I was suddenly summoned to thebedside of the dying Cornelius. He had sent for me in haste，conjuring my instant presence. I found him stretched on hispallet， enfeebled even to death； all of life that yet remainedanimated his piercing eyes， and they were fixed on a glassvessel， full of a roseate liquid.
“Behold，” he said， in a broken and inward voice， “thevanity of human wishes！ a second time my hopes are aboutto be crowned， a second time they are destroyed. Look atthat liquor—you remember five years ago I had prepared thesame， with the same success；—then， as now， my thirsting lipsexpected to taste the immortal elixir—you dashed it from me！
and at present it is too late.”
He spoke with difficulty， and fell back on his pillow. I couldnot help saying，—
“How， revered master， can a cure for love restore you tolife？”
A faint smile gleamed across his face as I listened earnestlyto his scarcely intelligible answer. “A cure for love and for allthings—the Elixir of Immortality. Ah！ if now I might drink， Ishould live for ever！”
As he spoke， a golden flash gleamed from the fluid； a wellrememberedfragrance stole over the air； he raised himself， allweak as he was— strength seemed miraculously to re-enter hisframe—he stretched forth his hand—a loud explosion startledme—a ray of fire shot up from the elixir， and the glass vesselwhich contained it was shivered to atoms！ I turned my eyestowards the philosopher； he had fallen back—his eyes wereglassy—his features rigid—he was dead！