CHAPTER II.—THE DREADFUL SECRET.
Oh, shame! oh, guilt! oh, horror! oh, remorse
Oh, punishment! Had Satan never fallen,
Hell had been made for me. Oh, Leonora!
Leonora! Leonora!
Young.
Helen Grahame, borne helpless to her bed-chamber, remained for many hours without exhibiting any sign of returning consciousness.
An experienced physician had been summoned, and at length the fit was so far mastered by the application of remedies and restoratives, that the semblance of death no longer remained, and she was roused into motion, though not to consciousness.
She was delirious, at first: and sitting upright in the bed, caught the terrified, weeping Evangeline by the wrist, and pointed into vacancy.