be immersed in reflection and thought. "Yes, yes," exclaimed she, "I
know well enough how it is. You cannot imagine what a furious storm it
was: and so I sunk upon the ground terrified to death: and so Edwin left
me, and ran some where, I cannot tell where, for shelter. But sure it
could not be so neither. He could not be so barbarous. Well but however
somebody came and took me up, and so I am here. But what am I here for,
and what place is this? Tell me, ye kind shepherdesses, (if
shepherdesses you are) for indeed I am sick at heart."

The broken interrogatories of Imogen were heard with a profound silence.
"What," said the lovely and apprehensive maiden, "will you not answer
me? No, not one word. Ah, then it must be bad indeed. But I have done
nothing that should make me be afraid. I am as harmless and as chearly
as the little red-breast that pecks out of my hand? So you will not hurt
me, will you? No, I dare swear. You do not frown upon me. Your looks are
quite sweet and good-natured. But then it was not kind not to answer me,
and tell me what I asked you." "Fair stranger," replied one of the
throng, "we would willingly do any thing to oblige you. But you are weak
and ill; and it is necessary that you should not exert yourself, but try
to sleep."

"Sleep," replied the shepherdess, "what here in this strange place? No,
that I shall not, I can tell you. I never slept from under the thatch of
my father's cottage in my life, but once, and that was at the wedding of
my dear, obliging Rovena. But perhaps," added she, "my father and mother
will come to me here. So I will even try and be compilable, for I never
was obstinate. But indeed my head is strangely confused; you must excuse
me."

Such was the language, and such the affecting simplicity of the innocent