ess for the moment of beholding her once more stand before
him arrayed in health and beauty; for a sinister voice seemed always
to whisper to him, "You will never more behold her as she was."

When he arrived at her habitation all was silent in it: he made his
way through several rooms; in one he saw a servant weeping bitterly:
he was faint with fear and could hardly ask, "Is she dead?" and just
listened to the dreadful answer, "Not yet." These astounding words
came on him as of less fearful import than those which he had
expected; and to learn that she was still in being, and that he might
still hope was an alleviation to him. He remembered the words of her
letter and he indulged the wild idea that his kisses breathing warm
love and life would infuse new spirit into her, and that with him near
her she could not die; that his presence was the talisman of her life.

He hastened to her sick room; she lay, her cheeks burning with fever,
yet her eyes were closed and she was seemingly senseless. He wrapt her
in his arms; he imprinted breathless kisses on her burning lips; he
called to her in a voice of subdued anguish by the tenderest names;
"Return Elinor; I am with you; your life, your love. Return; dearest
one, you promised me this boon, that I should bring you health. Let
your sweet spirit revive; you cannot die near me: What is death? To
see you no more? To part with what is a part of myself; without whom I
have no memory and no futurity? Elinor die! This is frenzy and the
most miserable despair: you cannot die while I am near."

And again he kissed her eyes and lips, and hung over her inanimate
form in agony, gazing on her countenance still lovely although
changed, watching every slight convulsion, and varying colour which
denoted life still lingering although about to depart. Once for a
moment she revived and recognized his voice; a smile, a last lovely
smile, played upon her lips. He watched beside her for twelve hours
and then she died.[56]

CHAPTER X

It was six months after this miserable conclusion to his long nursed
hopes that I first saw him. He had retired to a part of the country
where he was not known that he might peacefully indulge his grief. All
the world, by the death of his beloved Elinor, was changed to him, and
he could no longer remain in any spot where he had seen her or where
her image mingled with the most rapturous hopes had brightened all
around with a light of joy which would now b