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Rh was held by Francesca, whose profile was seen, like a gentle shadow, bending over him.

The moonlight became more and more clear as the night advanced, and fell more immediately on the countenance of the sleeper, which grew wan even to ghastliness beneath that chill white beam. She felt his hand cold as the tomb within her own, but still it slackened nothing of its rigid grasp. A nameless terror froze the blood at her heart; more than once the scream rose to her lip, and was suppressed—but with what an internal shudder, lest the sleeper might be disturbed! The sleeper!—did he sleep?

Francesca trembled—the damp air seemed difficult to breathe. She strove to pray—no pious words came to her aid; a vague sensation of horror curdled her faculties. She gazed on the wan face, and strove to look around. She could not—it seemed as if to move would reveal some sight too horrible for humanity; yet some extraordinary fascination seemed to rivet her to the place. Affection—watchfulness—sorrow, all were merged in one vague and unutterable sensation of horror.

The moonbeam grew fainter—the corpse-like features became indistinct. She knew her eyes were fixed upon them, but they could not penetrate the awful obscurity. A stupor stole over her; she