When once the rude gust hit the moon, it tipt—
Or so it seem’d—and with a deafening peal
It spilt one blinding flash. Then, where this lit,
Just in the path before me gleam’d a knife!
Held o’er a form of white! To see the thing
I scream’d aloud. It seem’d a ghost!
My scream
Awoke no echo save Doretta’s voice:—
“Pauline?—and were you frighten’d?”
Then to this,