the vitality of her feelings was numbed and torpid: the first herald of
despair is insensibility. "Tomorrow then," said Falkland--and his voice
for the first time seemed strange and harsh to her--"we will fly hence
for ever: meet me at daybreak--the carriage shall be in attendance--we
cannot now unite too soon--would that at this very moment we were
prepared!"--"To-morrow!" repeated Emily, "at daybreak!" and as she clung
to him, he felt her shudder: "to-morrow-ay-to-morrow!--" one kiss--one
embrace--one word--farewell--and they parted.

Falkland returned to L------, a gloomy foreboding rested upon his mind:
that dim and indescribable fear, which no earthly or human cause can
explain--that shrinking within self--that vague terror of the future
--that grappling, as it were, with some unknown shade--that wandering of
the spirit--whither?--that cold, cold creeping dread--of what? As he
entered the house, he met his confidential servant. He gave him orders
respecting the flight of the morrow, and then retired into the chamber
where he slept. It was an antique and large room: the wainscot was of
oak; and one broad and high window looked over the expanse of country
which stretched beneath. He sat himself by the casement in silence--
he opened it: the dull air came over his forehead, not with a sense of
freshness, but, like the parching atmosphere of the east, charged with a
weight and fever that sank heavy into his soul. He turned:--he threw
himself upon the bed, and placed his hands over his face. His thoughts
were scattered into a thousand indistinct forms, but over all, there was
one rapturous remembrance; and that was, that the morrow was to unite him
for ever to her whose possession had only rendered her more dear.
Meanwhile, the hours rolled on; and as he lay thus silent and still, the
clock of the distant church struck with a distinct and solemn sound upon
his ear. It was the half-hour after midnight. At that moment an icy
thrill ran, slow and curdling, through his veins. His heart, as if with