“The river! the river!”
Those were the only words she muttered.
These words of such terrible significance seemed to be shrieked by demons in her ears She saw them in fiery characters dancing ignis-fatuus like, before her, leading her on to her doom. She followed unresistingly.
How she found her way—what route she chose to the river-side—she knew not, cared not. She reached a bridge that spanned the dark waters, ere she was conscious of her proximity to that grave which could be self-made by one desperate plunge.
And now the fearful act she contemplated presented itself in its most awful guise before her despairing eyes, but not to deter her from her frantic purpose. No! If she remained on earth, her future was all black and unshapen. There was rest and immunity from the horrors of want and destitution in the grave.
She knelt down and prayed.
She compressed her hands tightly together; a wild hysteric groan, forced from her by the intense anguish created by her unutterable thoughts, burst from her lips, and she hurried on to the bridge, to end, by one fearful plunge, her sorrows and her young life.
As she swept on to a recess, blinded by her misery, maddened by a despair devoid of one glimmering of hope, the glare from one of the lamps fell upon her ghastly face.
At that instant a strong hand caught her by the wrist, and a friendly voice exclaimed—
“Miss Clinton! Miss Clinton!”