33
words, with wild irregular steps. At last she gave a shriek, and sunk pale and motionless to the earth, as one caught by the unerring hand of death all at once, and when I saw her fall, I hastened with all my speed―I raised her in my arms; pale as the fallen snow was her face, and bloodless were her hands: her pulse seemed not to beat. I laid her head on a bower of flowers, and ran with all the haste I could to a neighbouring brook, and brought a draught of its crystal contents to the fair one who was lying in a swoon, while I expressed myself thus―"O murdering sorrow, sheath thy sword again, and give not my fair one so much pain." I took a little of the water, and rubbed her temples and her hands. She oped her eyes and faintly said, "Where am I now in this world, but to meet another woe, that in succession come as wave follows wave, and lash the friendless shore, amidst the horrors of the storm." I gave her a drink, and conducted her home, while she leaned up on my shoulder the whole of the way. Her pale and lank visage would inform the most casual observer that the thorn of anxiety had penetrated deeply into her gentle and deserted bosom―deserted by the only object of its fond and tender regard. As we entered the house, she gave a sudden scream, wild as the lone seabird that shrieks along the mountain billows amidst the horrors of the mournful night, and was going to fall, when I grasped her round the waist, and supported her. Her mother said, "O, Emma, what’s the matter?" when
