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with a mountain piled above--I care not, so that one grave hold Raymond
and his Perdita." Then weeping, she clung to me: "Take me to him," she
cried, "unkind Lionel, why do you keep me here? Of myself I cannot find him
-
-but you know where he lies--lead me thither."
At first these agonizing plaints filled me with intolerable compassion. But
soon I endeavoured to extract patience for her from the ideas she
suggested. I related my adventures of the night, my endeavours to find our
lost one, and my disappointment. Turning her thoughts this way, I gave them
an object which rescued them from insanity. With apparent calmness she
discussed with me the probable spot where he might be found, and planned
the means we should use for that purpose. Then hearing of my fatigue and
abstinence, she herself brought me food. I seized the favourable moment,
and endeavoured to awaken in her something beyond the killing torpor of
grief. As I spoke, my subject carried me away; deep admiration; grief, the
offspring of truest affection, the overflowing of a heart bursting with
sympathy for all that had been great and sublime in the career of my
friend, inspired me as I poured forth the praises of Raymond.
"Alas, for us," I cried, "who have lost this latest honour of the world!
Beloved Raymond! He is gone to the nations of the dead; he has become one
of those, who render the dark abode of the obscure grave illustrious by
dwelling there. He has journied on the road that leads to it, and joined
the mighty of soul who went before him. When the world was in its infancy
death must have been terrible, and man left his friends and kindred to
dwell, a solitary stranger, in an unknown country. But now, he who dies
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