in Lilian's room before her.

My bride was on the floor prostrate, insensible: so still, so colourless,
that my first dreadful thought was that life had gone. In her hand was a
letter, crushed as with a convulsive sudden grasp.

It was long before the colour came back to her cheek, before the breath
was perceptible on her lip. She woke, but not to health, not to sense.
Hours were passed in violent convulsions, in which I momentarily feared
her death. To these succeeded stupor, lethargy, not benignant sleep.
That night, my bridal night, I passed as in some chamber to which I had
been summoned to save youth from the grave. At length--at length--life
was rescued, was assured! Life came back, but the mind was gone. She
knew me not, nor her mother. She spoke little and faintly; in the words
she uttered there was no reason.

I pass hurriedly on; my experience here was in fault, my skill
ineffectual. Day followed day, and no ray came back to the darkened
brain. We bore her, by gentle stages, to London. I was sanguine of good
result from skill more consummate than mine, and more especially devoted
to diseases of the mind. I summoned the first advisers. In vain! in
vain!




CHAPTER LXIII.

And the cause of this direful shock? Not this time could it be traced to
some evil spell, some phantasmal influence. The cause was clear, and