Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. "You shall not go, adorable girl," cried Kneebone, catching her in his arms, "till you have answered me. "Oh, you're here, are you?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "I've been looking for you everywhere.
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