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Warfield, Catherine A.

"Miriam Monfort A Novel"

"I always loved you," I said. "I am so sorry, so sorry, Mr.
Stanbury!" I knew no more--the words forsook my lips. Again that wild
whirl of waters surged upon my ears; I seemed to be falling, falling
down a black, steep, bottomless shaft, beneath which the sea was
roaring--falling head-foremost--hurled as if with a strong impulse down
the abyss to certain destruction.
Then all was still. The jaws of my dark malady had opened to receive me.
I woke as from a long, deep, and unrefreshing slumber. I was lying in my
bed, with the curtains, drawn closely around it--the heavy crimson
curtains, with their white inside draperies and snowy tufted fringes. I
had a vague consciousness that some hand had recently parted them, and
the tassels on the valance were quivering still with the impulse they
had thus received. Then I heard voices.
"How much longer will it endure, Evelyn?"
"Five or six hours, I suppose. What time is it now?" The clock in the
hall struck ten before the question could be answered.
"Ten! It was about three when she was seized," rejoined the voice of
Evelyn; "you can calculate for yourself--the turns are invariably twelve
and twenty-four hours in duration; if one period is transcended the
other is accomplished. Dr. Pemberton himself told me this."
"Might not the term in some way be shortened? I was very sure I heard
her stirring just now, and my heart was in my mouth.


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