d, they might have believed the tortured spirit was
already released. This torpor lasted for some minutes, when, raising
herself up, as a bright gleam of intelligence stole over the hollow
cheeks, Lucilla put her finger to her lips, smiled, and said, in a low,
clear voice, "Hark! he comes!"

The Moor crept across the chamber, and opening the door, stood there in
a listening attitude. She, as yet, heard not the tread of the speeding
charger;--a moment, and it smote her ear; a moment more it halted by
the inn door: the snort of the panting horse--the rush of steps--Percy
Godolphin was in the room--was by the bedside--the poor sufferer was in
his arms; and softened, thrilled, overpowered, Lucilla resigned herself
to that dear caress; she drank in the sobs of his choked voice; she
felt still, as in happier days, burning into her heart, the magic of his
kisses. One instant of youth, of love, of hope, broke into that desolate
and fearful hour, and silent and scarcely conscious tears gushed from
her aching eyes, and laved, as it were, the burthen and the agony from
her heart.

The Moor traversed the room, and, laying one hand on the surgeon's
shoulder, pointed to the door. Lucilla and Godolphin were alone.

"Oh!" said he, at last finding voice, "is it thus--thus we meet? But say
not that you are dying, Lucilla! have mercy, mercy upon your betrayer,
your----"

Here he could utter no more; he sank beside her, covering his face with
his hands, and sobbing bitterly.

The momentary lucid interval for Lucilla had passed away; the maniac
rapture returned, although in a wild and solemn shape.

"Blame not yourself," said she, earnestly; "the remorseless stars are
the sole betrayers: yet, bright and lovely as they once seemed when they
assured me of a bond between thee and me, I could not dream that their
still and shining lore could forebode such gloomy truths. Oh, Percy!
since we parted, the earth has not been as the earth to me: the Natural
has left my life; a weird and roving spirit has entered my breast, and
filled my brain, and possessed my thoughts, and moved every spring of my
existence: the sun and the air, the green herb, the freshness and glory
of the world, have been covered with a mist in which only dim shapes
of dread were shadowed forth. But thou, my love, on whose breast I
have dreamed such blessed dreams, wert not to blame. No! the power
that crushes we cannot accuse: the heavens are above the reach of our
reproa