Mercy from him!
And how can I expect it?
By what right
Can I demand he should withhold his claim,
The proofs once in his power?—Anonymous.
Paul ran to Marguerite, and caught her in his arms; she was pale and icy cold. He carried her into the first room, placed her in an arm chair, returned to the door which had remained open, and closed it, and then hastened back.
“What is it that so terrifies you? who is pursuing you? and how does it happen that you come here at this unusual hour?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Marguerite, “at any hour, whether by day or night, I should have flown as long as the earth would have borne me! I should have flown till I had found some heart in which I could have poured forth my sorrows, an arm capable of defending me. Paul! Paul! my father is dead?”
“Poor child!” said Paul, pressing Marguerite to his heart, “who flies from one house of death to fall into another; who leaves death in the castle, to find it in the cottage.”
“Yes, yes!” cried Marguerite rising, still trembling with terror, and convulsively pressing Paul’s arm. “Death is yonder, and I find death here! but yonder it is attended with despair and fear, while here it is met with tranquillity and hope. Oh! Paul! Paul! had you but seen that which I have seen!”
“Tell me all that happened.”
“You saw the terrible effect produced by your appearance, and the mere sound of your voice?”
“Yes, I saw that.”
“They carried him still fainting and speechless into his own room.”