“Now,” said Montressor, and he gently disengaged his hands from the grasp of his sleeping companion. He softly kissed her lips. He started up, dreading that the tear which had fallen on her cheek, would awake her. He raised his hands to heaven.
“God of mercy, if thou hast one whom in all the earth thou lovest more than another, for innocence and misfortune, let that one be Mary Evelyn! Let angels guard her, under the direction of her sainted father. Send peace to her sorrows. Let thy balm drop into every wound, thou gracious Being.”
“Amen,” responded the miller and his wife.
And surely God himself repeated the same Amen; for a sweet beauty, shining in quiet happiness, rested upon the features of the sleeping one. Montressor pointed to her, whilst he said in anguish,—
“And should she wander in her mind, oh, soothe her. When she awakens, tell her that I am safe, and that soon I am here again. One kiss more, my Mary.”
Hans conducted him down to the pass, and soon the sound of the horse’s hoofs were unheard in the distance. The moon was shining brightly.
“Never,” said Hans, “were the rays so sweet here before. And well may they, such a beautiful face lies in our house!”
The weary months of winter passed on, and Mary Evelyn was a gentle maniac. Unremitting were the attentions of her humble friends, but she heeded them not. She was always, when awake, playing with the counterpane of her little bed; starting up, and shrieking in her sport.