l; the sense of utter loneliness
with which she saw the shores recede; the conviction then borne in upon
her--and never wholly eradicated from her mind--that some mysterious
doom had overtaken her, from which there was no escape. The influence of
that time, and of the time that succeeded it, still dwelt upon her, and
overshadowed her with its gloom. She had almost lost the instinct of
hope. She never doubted, when they carried young Dowse into that silent
room, but that he would die: was it not her province to bring misery to
all who were associated with her? And she had got so reconciled to this
notion that she did not argue the matter with herself; she had, for
example, no sense of bitterness in contrasting this apparent "destiny"
of hers with the most deeply-rooted feeling in her heart; namely, a
perfectly honest readiness to give up her own life if only that could
secure the happiness of those she loved. She did not even feel injured
because this was impossible. Things were so; and she accepted them.

But sometimes, in the darkness of her room, in the silence of the
night-time, when her heart seemed to be literally breaking with its
conflict of anxious love and returning despair, some wild notion of
propitiation--doubtless derived from ancient legends--would flash across
her mind; and she would cry in her agony, "If one must be taken, let it
be me! The world cares for him. What am I?" If she could only go out
into the open place of the city, and bare her bosom to the knife of the
priest, and call on the people to see how she had saved the life of her
beloved--surely that would be to die happy. What she had done, now that
she came to look back over it, seemed but too poor an expression of her
great love and admiration. What mattered it that a girl should give up
her friends and her home? Her life--her very life--that was what she
desired, when these wild fancies possessed her, to surrender freely, if
only she could know that she was rescuing him from the awful portals
that her despairing dread saw open before him, and was giving him
back--as she bade him a last farewell--to health, and joy, and the
comfort of many friends.

With other wrestlings in spirit, far more eager and real than these mere
fancies derived from myths, it is not within the province of the present
writer to deal; they are not for the house-tops or the market-places.
But it may be said that in all directions the gloomy influences of that
past time