"Never—never!" cried Mary-Anne, convulsively; and, taking Richard's hand, she carried it to her countenance.
She placed his fingers upon her closed eye-lids.
He touched them; they yielded to his pressure.
The sockets of the eyes were empty.
The eye-balls were gone!
"Oh! wherefore art thou thus afflicted—thou who art so guiltless, so pure, so innocent?" exclaimed our hero, unable to contain his emotions.
"Question not the will of the deity," said Mary-Anne. "I am resigned to die; and if, at times, a regret in favour of the world I am leaving enters my mind, or is made apparent in my language, I pray the Almighty to pardon me those transient repinings. Of the past it is useless now to think;—the present is here;—and the future is an awful subject for contemplation. But upon that I must now fix my attention!"
Markham made no answer; and during the long silence which ensued, the dying girl was wrapt up in mental devotion.
At length she said, "Give me your hand, Richard—and yours, Isabella."
Her voice had now lost all its excitement; and her utterance was slow and languid.