in silence, and with an air of ineffable solicitude. Clarice, governed
by the instinct of modesty, wrapped her bosom and face in the
bedclothes, and testified her horror by vehement but scarcely-articulate
exclamations.

I moved forward, but my steps were random and tottering. My thoughts
were fettered by reverie, and my gesticulations destitute of meaning. My
tongue faltered without speaking, and I felt as if life and death were
struggling within me for the mastery.

My will, indeed, was far from being neutral in this contest. To such as
I, annihilation is the supreme good. To shake off the ills that fasten
on us by shaking off existence, is a lot which the system of nature has
denied to man. By escaping from life, I should be delivered from this
scene, but should only rush into a world of retribution, and be immersed
in new agonies.

I was yet to live. No instrument of my deliverance was within reach. I
was powerless. To rush from the presence of these women to hide me
forever from their scrutiny and their upbraiding, to snatch from their
minds all traces of the existence of Clithero, was the scope of
unutterable longings.

Urged to flight by every motive of which my nature was susceptible, I
was yet rooted to the spot. Had the pause been only to be interrupted by
me, it would have lasted forever.

At length, the lady, clasping her hands and lifting them, exclaimed, in
a tone melting into pity and grief,--