She then burst into such a violent and frantic fit of weeping, that Ada became much alarmed, and entreated her to be composed, in the most moving and tender accents.
Gradually the deep anguish of Maud subsided, and when she again looked on the face of Ada, the wild glowing expression of her eyes had given place to a mild lustre, and she said in a low soft voice, exceedingly different from that in which she usually spoke,—
“Where am I?”
“Alas!” said Ada, “I can scarcely tell you; but till sunset you are welcome to what shelter and food I can give you.”
“Give!” said Maud; “God’s mercy has granted me just now, for the second time, the calmness and rationality of my happier days—this will pass away soon, and I shall become what I know I am—mad again!”
“Nay,” said Ada, “hope that Heaven is not so stinting of its mercy.”
Maud shook her head and sighed deeply.
“You wish me to go at sunset?”
“For your own safety.”
“Well, be it so; I was guided hither for I know not what—I believe only because I am poor and wretched, and my wits wander sometimes.”