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VOL. II.
CHAPTER I.
DURING this voyage, when on calm evenings we conversed on deck, watching
the glancing of the waves and the changeful appearances of the sky, I
discovered the total revolution that the disasters of Raymond had wrought
in the mind of my sister. Were they the same waters of love, which, lately
cold and cutting as ice, repelling as that, now loosened from their frozen
chains, flowed through the regions of her soul in gushing and grateful
exuberance? She did not believe that he was dead, but she knew that he was
in danger, and the hope of assisting in his liberation, and the idea of
soothing by tenderness the ills that he might have undergone, elevated and
harmonized the late jarring element of her being. I was not so sanguine as
she as to the result of our voyage. She was not sanguine, but secure; and
the expectation of seeing the lover she had banished, the husband, friend,
heart's companion from whom she had long been alienated, wrapt her senses
in delight, her mind in placidity. It was beginning life again; it was
leaving barren sands for an abode of fertile beauty; it was a harbour after
a tempest, an opiate after sleepless nights, a happy waking from a terrible
dream.
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