t was not in human heart, much less in a heart that loved her still, to gaze on that death-like face unmoved; and Richmond's stern gaze relaxed, and his brow lost its cold severity, as he knelt beside her and said:
"Dearest Georgia, one would think you were dying. Deeply as you have mortified me, I have not the heart to see you thus wretched. Look up—smile—speak to me. What! not a word? Good mercy, how deeply you seem to feel these things!"
"Let me go, Richmond; I am tired and sick, and want to be alone."
"Yes, you are sick; the fiery spirit within you is wearing out your body. Oh, Georgia! when are these storms of passion to cease?"
She lifted her melancholy black eyes to his face with a strange, prolonged gaze.
"When I am dead."
"Oh, Georgia, sooner than that! Oh, why did you insult my mother, disgrace me, and horrify all these people to-day! Are you going crazy, Georgia?"
"No; I wish I were."
"Georgia!" he said, shocked as much by her slow, strange tone as by her words.