had never known what it was to dispute, they were so unwearied in their
assiduities to their amiable charge, that it was not long before she
began once again to exhibit the tokens of renewed perception. She raised
by degrees a leaden and inexpressive eye, to the objects that were about
her, without having as yet spirit and recollectedness enough to
distinguish them. "My mother," cried she, "my venerable Edith, I am not
well. My head is quite confused and giddy. Do press it with your
friendly hand." A female attendant, as she uttered these words, drew
near to obey them. "Go, go," exclaimed Imogen, with a feeble tone, and
at the same time putting by the officious hand, "you naughty girl. You
are not my mother. Do not think to make me believe you are."

While she spoke this she began gradually to gain a more entire
sedateness and self-command. She seemed to examine, with an eager and
inquisitive eye, first one object, and then another by turns. The
novelty of the whole scene appeared for an instant to engross her
attention. Every part of the furniture was unlike that of a shepherd's
cot; and completely singular and unprecedented by any thing that her
memory could suggest. But this self-deception, this abstraction from her
feelings and her situation was of a continuance the shortest that can be
conceived. All seemed changed with her in a moment. Her eye, which, from
a state of languor and unexpressiveness, had assumed an air of intent
and restless curiosity, was now full of comfortless sorrow and
unprotected distress. "Powers that defend the innocent, support, guard
me! Where am I? What have I been doing? What is become of me? Oh, Edwin,
Edwin!" and she reclined her head upon the shoulder of the female who
was nearest her.

Recovering however, in a moment, the dignity that was congenial to her,
she raised herself from this remiss and inactive posture, and seemed to