Page:The Indian Orphan.pdf/17

Rh, the interest of the most trivial detail—and when on our pillow, the hurry of ideas, the delicious, though agitated throbbing of the heart. To sleep is impossible, but how delightful to lie awake! But my first look at Edward, the next morning, made my pillow sleepless again, and sleepless from anxiety. The climate too surely had been slow poison to him; his bright and beautiful colour was gone; the wan veins of his finely turned and transparent temples, had lost the clearness and the hue of health; and often his voice sank to an almost inaudible tone, as if speaking were too great an exertion. Still he himself laughed at our fears, and pressed the conclusion of our marriage. I wished it too, for I felt it was some thing to be his, even in the grave. It was the evening before the day fixed for uniting us, when he proposed to visit a spot I had often sought alone—the grave of my parents. Once or twice during the walk I was startled by his excessive paleness, but again his smile and cheerfulness reassured me. We sat down together silently. I was too sad for words: a little branch of scented flowers in my hand, was quite washed by my tears. A cloud was flitting over the moon, and for a short space it was entirely dark; suddenly the soft clear light came forth more lovely than before. I bade Edward mark how beautifully it seemed to sweep away the black cloud; he answered me not, but remained with his face bowed on his hands. I put mine into them—they were cold: I saw his countenance—it was convulsed in death.