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solitude, anxious conjecture, and bitter, still--disappointed
expectation. What had she done the while, how supported his absence and
neglect? Light grew dim in these close streets, and when the well known
door was opened, the staircase was shrouded in perfect night. He groped his
way up, he entered the garret, he found Evadne stretched speechless, almost
lifeless on her wretched bed. He called for the people of the house, but
could learn nothing from them, except that they knew nothing. Her story was
plain to him, plain and distinct as the remorse and horror that darted
their fangs into him. When she found herself forsaken by him, she lost the
heart to pursue her usual avocations; pride forbade every application to
him; famine was welcomed as the kind porter to the gates of death, within
whose opening folds she should now, without sin, quickly repose. No
creature came near her, as her strength failed.
If she died, where could there be found on record a murderer, whose cruel
act might compare with his? What fiend more wanton in his mischief, what
damned soul more worthy of perdition! But he was not reserved for this
agony of self-reproach. He sent for medical assistance; the hours passed,
spun by suspense into ages; the darkness of the long autumnal night yielded
to day, before her life was secure. He had her then removed to a more
commodious dwelling, and hovered about her, again and again to assure
himself that she was safe.
In the midst of his greatest suspense and fear as to the event, he
remembered the festival given in his honour, by Perdita; in his honour
then, when misery and death were affixing indelible disgrace to his name,
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