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PAUL CLIFFORD.
CHAPTER XI.
Why is it that, at moments, there creeps over us an awe, a terror, overpowering but undefined? Why is it that we shudder without a cause, and feel the warm life-blood stand still in its courses? Are the dead too near?
Falkland.
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Ha! sayest thou? Hideous thought, I feel it twine
O'er my iced heart, as curls around his prey
The sure and deadly serpent!
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What! in the hush and in the solitude
Pass'd that dread soul away?
Love and Hatred.
The evening prior to that morning in which the above conversation occurred, Brandon passed alone in his lodging at . He had felt himself too unwell to attend the customary wassail, and he sat in-
