parcel of
letters, written, received, kissed, and kept, like something holy, so
long in vain; and all the charming hopeful hours in which each was
found, when some longer absence had given to each a deeper interest, and
higher value--those hours never to return, came shadowing over her mind,
memory, and soul, and a lethargy of despairing grief imposed a
ghost-like semblance of calm on her whole figure, and her face slowly
assumed a deadly paleness, even to the lips, visible even by the moon.
David grew alarmed, relapsed into the full fondness of former hours,
folded the dumb, drooping, and agonized young woman in his arms, to his
bosom! without her betraying consciousness, and yet she was not
fainting; she stood upright, and her eyes, though fixed as if glazed,
still expressed love in their almost shocking fixedness.

The young man grew terrified. "Look up! speak to me! Winifred, _dear_
Winifred, my _own_ Winifred, in spite of all!" he broke forth. "Smile at
me, my dearest, once more, and keep these foolish letters you so value,
keep them _all_." And he thrust them into her passive hand.

Aroused by his words and action, poor Winifred, starting with a gasp,
wildly kissed the little packet, and thanked him by an embrace more
passionate than her prudence or modesty would have permitted, had they
been happy.

"And my portrait--my ugliness in paint, and on ivory too, dearest, you
shall have yet, as you desire it," he added, forcing pleasantry; "only
do not fall into that frightful sort of trance again."

He little knew what deadliness of thoughts, almost of purpose, had
produced that long abstracted fit. The most exemplary prudence (the
result of a sound mind and heart) had characterised this young woman
till now. While yet at home, her bodily activity surprised her parents.
Their means having been long but low, they had little help in their
dairy and small farming concerns. She often surprised her mother with
the sight of the butter already churned, the ewes already milked, or the
cheeses pressed, when she arose. She was abroad in the heavy dews of
morning, when the sun at midsummer rises in what is properly the night,
regarded as the hour of rest--abroad, happy and cheerful, calling the
few cows in the misty meadows. Nor did this habit of early rising
prevent her indulging at night her _one_ unhappy habit--romance-reading;
a pleasure which she enjoyed through the kindness of many ladies of the
town of Cardigan, who af