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Cold from the midnight chill, and white with fear, Your large blue eyes darker and larger grown With terror's chain'd attention, and your breath Suppress'd for very earnestness. Well, love, Good night; and if our haunted air be fill'd With Spirits, may they watch o'er thee like Love!

Good night, good night!—the kind Madonna shed Her blessings o'er thee! [Exit. 'Tis his last footfall,—I can catch no more. Methinks he pass'd too quickly. Had I left This room, I should have counted every step,— Have linger'd on the threshold; but he went Rapidly, carelessly. Now out on this,